


How the Mighty Fall (In Love)

by Bitter_Brew_Barista



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Arthur Morgan Deserves Nice Things, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Im WEAK for Arthur Morgan getting what he deserves, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Slow Burn who?, This is written on my phone, Warnings: Mention of Abuse, We love and respect Arthur in this house, dont know her, self doubt, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 117,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitter_Brew_Barista/pseuds/Bitter_Brew_Barista
Summary: “So, tell me,” She demands without raising her voice “Why would an outlaw do something he doesn’t want to do? Seems to defeat the purpose.”Arthur paused, feeling a moment of vulnerability he’d never felt before, before answering honestly“I ain’t good for much else, ma’am.”Something softens in those fierce eyes, and Arthur wonders if he even deserves that, as she stacks the bottles and jars she’s holding onto her saddle.“Whoever told you that’s a fool- living like that’s a waste of a man’s life, really.” She tells him like it’s a matter of fact.————Where collecting Thomas Downes’ debt ends how it should have, and Arthur Morgan finds himself hoping for things he doesn’t deserve when a young woman challenges everything he’s ever thought about himself.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Karen Jones/Sean MacGuire
Comments: 258
Kudos: 155





	1. Absolved

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I’m Bitter *laughs in dad*
> 
> Anyhow, I’ve come to find out that no matter how many times you play RDR2 that the ending never changes. So, to cope with the pain I’ve created this *confetti and jazz hands* flaming hot garbage to dry my tears.
> 
> Writing this is super fun, and I hope reading it is just as much so, but if you don’t like it- oh well, not everyone likes everything. 
> 
> And, yes, I did do the “title is from a Fallout Boy song” cliche. So what, they’ve got good stuff.
> 
> Please enjoy my self administered emotional therapy.
> 
> WARNING: Italics abuse and the first chapter is written in past tense while the rest is in present tense, whoops, but that’s cause this is all my own- mistakes and all, no beta here.

Clemens Point was beautiful, a perfect patch of undisturbed land cushioned against a pristine and prime fishing lake, and Arthur found a solace he hadn’t felt in months while he sat against a tree, journal in hand, as he waited for Charles to escort camp to their new location. He sighed softly as his stick of graphite glided across the pages, catching the likeliness of the small wild flowers littered about, Magnolia May snorted in contentment behind him, most likely nosing through the underbrush for food.

He recalled when he’d first found her, not too long after leaving the harsh mountains and Colter, he’d found himself back up that way, hunting legendary animals Hosea had gotten him excited for- save the bear, he could go without seeing another bear for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be long enough. Word was that Lake Isabella was home to a giant white bison that moved like a ghost through the snowy mountains, nearly impossible to find let alone shoot. Arthur was riding the Tennessee Walker they’d taken from Mrs. Adler’s, the horse skittish and unsure under Arthur, he’d been bucked off twice at that point, and the gunslinger was most likely going to the stables after this hunting trip. He’d seen a beautiful Dutch Warmblood in Strawberry, and he was sure Mrs. Adler would appreciate not having another reminder of her late husband.

Arthur nudged the stallion towards the lake, burrowing his chin a little deeper into the thick wool lining of his coat as he dug around for his binoculars. He had herbivore bait and scent cover lotion as well, the later already slathered across his neck and forearms, fully hoping to leave with a pelt worth more than a couple dollars. Not only would it be a great donation to camp, but it would hopefully allow Arthur a couple extra dollars in his pocket for when the others at camp came to him asking about little things. Karen liked pretty ribbon for her hair, Abigail and Jack enjoyed getting candies every now and then, he even left Molly pretty trinkets during the aftermath of her and Dutch’s worse fallouts- which seemed to be happening more often than not at this point- to lift her spirits. He thought about all these things as he looked through the lenses into the sparse trees that could survive the mountain chill, looking for movement or large disturbances in otherwise pristine snow.

“C’mon now…” Arthur murmured, warm breath foggy against the freezing air as he scanned the area, horse shifting and high stepping in the deep snow. 

Up towards the slope, a movement on the edge of the binoculars caught his attention and Arthur turned his head just in time to see a smudge of off-white round the rocky terrain. A swell of excitement bubbled in Arthur’s chest as he steered his horse to a nearby tree, tethering it’s reins to a low hanging branch before moving downward to retrieve his scoped Springfield rifle.

“You be good, boy.” He smiles at the horse, giving it a peach to munch on and a few pats on his neck, not paying any mind to the makeshift sled behind it.

Trekking across the frozen part of the lake is slow going and, frankly, terrifying, Arthur wincing with every creak and groan of the ice beneath his weight. Dropping into freezing waters was  _ not  _ something Arthur wanted to experience, even after twenty plus years of being shot at, stabbed, beaten, and trampled by horses. 

He chuckled at the sudden memory of John being bucked off The Count when they were younger.

Making it across the ice, Arthur felt it easier to breathe and began the high stepped venture up the base of the mountain after where he saw the beast wander off. The cold seeped through the stiff material of his jeans, making his shins numb within a few minutes of walking, and his ears and nose felt chapped and tingly. He  _ really  _ hated the cold, and it didn’t seem to like him much neither.

After what felt like a small eternity, Arthur found himself where he’d seen the animal, and saw the large deep imprints on the snow, a thick heavy drag that would lead straight to the bison.

“Well I’ll be,” Arthur chucked, having expected much more of a challenge, spirits lifting at the prospect of an easy hunt, and lifted his rifle for a better view through his scope. The trail winded down the side of the mountain, and off through a surprisingly thick tree line that Arthur couldn’t see past from his position.

Swallowing a groan, because this  _ was  _ easy compared to the sorts of mess he’d been through in the past months, he swung his rifle back over his shoulder and began his descent towards the thicket with as much silence as the deep snow would allow. 

Which meant walking slower than Uncle and nearly having a heart attack every time the snow gave a decidedly loud  _ crunch  _ beneath his boots. How did Charles manage to make this look so  _ easy  _ back in Colter? The man made hardly a sound on their hunting trip, and Arthur wasn’t too proud to admit the man had spoked him once or twice, coming up through Arthur’s blind spots without even the snow grinding beneath his tread. Arthur wished he had even a  _ fraction  _ of the other man’s composure, would’ve come in handy on more than one occasion.

Thinking of Charles brought him back to their own bison hunt those weeks ago, how the many who rarely spoke to anyone so readily shared his story and values with Arthur, who trusted Arthur with something he considered sacred. He remembered the pain and  _ rage  _ that radiated off the man as he saw bison after bison slaughtered for no reason but outdated racism and prejudice, he remembered watching Charles blowing a crater into a man and still not feeling like it wasn’t enough. He remembered taking the other man in his own hands, refusing to continue letting Charles feed into that kind of anger, the kind of anger that turned a good man into a cold hearted shell of their former self. Killing for revenge of any kind, Arthur felt, was a deep and dangerous slope that blurred the lines of what little morality people like them had. He remembered the incredulous expression Charles wore when Arthur let the man live on the condition he went back to his employer with news that his partner was killed and they’d be next if more bison died, but Arthur hadn’t let that deter him as he explained himself to the man. Luckily, Charles understood and they were okay and Arthur was grateful to have someone else in the gang who didn’t just blast a man even after Arthur stepped in.

Like Micah blowing  _ all of Strawberry to hell. _

Damn  _ snake _ .

Arthur blew out and agitated breath that the mere thought of the man, rolling the thought of him off his shoulders like a bad touch as he made it to the tree line. He focused his attention back on the tracks and saw where they wound through the trees, a good hundred yards or so ahead, the thick built of the bison could be seen half obscured by the winter forest. Satisfaction swelled in Arthur as he crouched down low, silently drawing his rifle as he crept through the snow, trying to stay as hidden as possible as to close enough for a clean shot.

Fate was smiling upon Arthur for sure that day, as the bison was too busy grazing in a grass patch it had found, the snow the beast had dug up blocking its view was all Arthur needed to get close as he needed. Aiming through his scope, the outlaw found he could get a clean shot through the temple as soon as the bison raised its head  _ just enough _ .

_ Wait..Aim.. _

The majestic beast paused its eating, its head coming up slowly.

_ Breathe.. Squeeze… _

The white head of the bison looked up, seeing out in front of it, tail swishing as it snorted to itself.

_ Fire. _

With the heavy crack of his Springfield, the bison took a clean shot through the side of the head and landed to the ground with no more than a startled yelp at the bullet’s impact. Arthur couldn’t help his excited holler, or how his numb, chapped, face stretched into a large grin as he hurried his way to the animal, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. His last hunt had been the lengendary buck in Big Valley, and Arthur had been ready to club the animal rather than shoot it after the fourth missed shot from all the damn  _ jumping around  _ the thing did. 

So this was decidedly  _ much  _ better.

His mood was dampened when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to leave his horse on the other side of the mountain, because he couldn’t skin the bison here or he’d waste a majority of the animal. Arthur was planning to take the whole animal to Charles, knowing that every part would be utilized to its fullest value.

Now he just had to go  _ back  _ to get his horse.

_ Shit _ .

“Oh, well,” He mused to no one “Little extra walking ain’t ever hurt.” And began his much less controlled and quiet journey to the Walker he’d left. Hopefully wolves wouldn’t show up while he was off, should’ve brought Marston just in case.

His legs were stiff and uncomfortably numb by the time he’d gotten back to this prize with his horse, and his nose was raw from how many times he’d rubbed it, but he managed to shimmy the bison onto his sled - _ “Morgan, you  _ dumbass _ , how the hell you forget a whole sled? You  _ built _ the damn thing!” He groused at himself the whole time _ \- with the help of his horse, and thus began their journey home. The sled helped a considerable amount in easing the weight they had to carry, but Arthur knew they’d have to take breaks often to allow the horse to rest and he’d already decided he wouldn’t ride it for a good portion of their way home either- or at least until the stable, where he’d get himself a new horse and both creatures could easily drag the bison.

They’d have to ride around the lake, Arthur thought, not willing to test his good fortune in such a way, as he steered the Walker to the far side of the water.

That’s when he saw her.

The most  _ gorgeous  _ horse he’d ever laid eyes on, an Arabian with a pristine white coat that glittered like the snow did in the sun, not albino like The Count, there was gray in her socks, along with her mane and tail. 

Arthur had to at least  _ try  _ to catch her, and try he did.

For  _ hours _ .

She was the most challenging horse of Arthur’s life, not allowing him within ten feet of her before snorted and stomping in warning, darting off he he tried to come closer. He shushed and cooed at her time after time, offered her treats from his bag that she was interested in but too weary to take, anything he could think of to get close. Arthur couldn’t make a move to his rope, it wasn’t harder to get to under his coat and she didn’t like when he rustled too much, and he wasn’t sure that was how he wanted to catch her anyhow, didn’t seem right. 

So he coaxed her and sweet talked her until finally,  _ finally _ , she stopped stomping, stopping skidding off, and took two cautious steps his direction. He grinned, holding the peach out a little further and giving her a small knicker to beckon her closer, it worked and, little by little, they met in the middle. She gingerly took the peach from his palm, her large coal eyes focused on him as she ate, Arthur showed her his other hand, keeping it open and slow moving as he over dramatically reached into his satchel for another. Her tail flicked and swished, but she made a content sound as she took the other peach from him, and allowed Arthur to gently stroke her cheek as her ate. He pet across her cheek and nose, even scratched behind her ears a little like Bodaccia loved to much, and the Arabian soaked up the attention with happy little whinnies, she even went as far as to nose his hands when he stopped.

“That’s my girl.” He rumbled with a chuckle and pulled his rope free from his hip.

With plenty of sugar cubes, he was able to get her properly roped and hooked up to the bison sled, which he was plenty surprised hadn’t been accosted by wolves yet, and they were on their way back to camp. The Tennessee Walker was a little nervous, but plenty of treats and brush downs calmed them both down quick and easy like.

The trip back was uneventful, save the large number of people that stopped him on account of admiring his new steed and his bison, and when they stopped at the stable to buy tack for the Arabian. He’d need a good saddle for her, smaller built horses needed higher quality saddles to keep from hurting their back and legs over time. Arthur didn’t ride her in her new gear, opting to let her get used to the feel of it all without the stress of handling being ridden for the first time. She did beautifully, not once kicking or throwing off a piece, more curious than anything, only giving a warning huff and heavy stomp when the straps were too tight. The bit took some coaxing, he’d bought the smallest and least intrusive available, but she was alright. He’d have to bring her back for shoes.

“Aren’t you something.” He praised her, petting her neck with all the affection he could muster just to watch her preen at him.

Arriving at camp, Arthur was almost dizzy with happiness, his heart felt warm and full when he called for Charles’ help with the bison. Charles was awed by the bison, and extremely honored Arthur had taken what Charles had told him about the bison to heart, the animal was a beautiful kill, and he was excited to work on it. He was also thoroughly impressed by Arthur’s Arabian, but not in the least bit surprised how enamored the other outlaw was with it, he’d seen how the man cooed and pet on every horse in camp, how he could calm even the meanest of stallions, and Charles had to admit that the man had a gift.

Arthur left Charles with the bison with an elated spirit, but also instructions to get him if he needed any help, and went to remove the tack from the Tennessee Walker so he could lead the horse to the small herd of extra horses they kept for pulling wagons and coaches. The stallion was more than content to graze lazily with the others, and Arthur made sure to bring a couple of hay bales over to them too, along with their main riding horses on the other end of camp.

Jack found Arthur with his Arabian while the man was undoing her tack, not wanting to keep it on her any longer than necessary, and asked to pet her.

“Sure thing, Jack.” Arthur grinned, easily lifting the small boy to reach her mane, and Jack gently stroked the long hair, giggling when she turned her head to nose at him out of curiosity.

“She’s beautiful, Uncle Arthur.” Jack chimed, petting her velvet nose “What’s her name?

“I don’t quite know yet,” Arthur admitted, putting the boy down “Any ideas?”

Jack frowned in thought some but was pulled from them when his mother approached

“Momma!” He called, running over to her “Look at Uncle Arthur’s new horse, isn’t she pretty?”

Abigail laughed, catching her son easily before looking at the horse “She’s as beautiful as a magnolia in May, Arthur.” She complimented, voice warm and affectionate. Arthur always felt like motherhood suited Abigail, and moments like these reaffirmed that feeling. He smiled at her kindly, tipping his hat in thanks as her and the boy walked off.

He then turned back to the mare, a glint in his as he brushed the debris from her coat “A magnolia in May, huh?” He mused, getting an idea.

The telltale sounds of wagons rolling and voices pulled Arthur from his thoughts, looking up to see the gang rolling in, and he pulled himself to his feet to meet with Dutch and Charles who were walking towards him. They talked idly for a few moments, relishing in the newness of this camp and it’s beauty, before separating to help put camp together with everyone else. 

Arthur walked over to Mary-Beth, relieving her of the large roll of canvas she was trying to maneuver and asking how she felt about their new spot.

“It’s just beautiful,” She gushed “Like a scene from a book.”

Arthur chuckled kindly “I’m glad you like it, Charles did a good job finding this place.”

“Most definitely.” She agreed. 

Arthur nodded his farewell and picked up the canvas, hauling it over his shoulder with a soft grunt, being a workhorse definitely had its perks, he felt grateful for the muscle and ability to work and help as much as he did around the camp. Being able to lift and pull and build so those who couldn’t or shouldn’t didn’t have to, making sure that everything and then some was taken care of so when people - _ Micah _ \- didn’t, it wouldn’t affect the camp.

He was putting the canvas up with Javier, helping make one of the lean to’s while having idle chatter when Strauss found him.

“Herr Morgan!”

_ Damn it _ .

“Yes, Herr Strauss?” He tried to hold the sarcasm, but Javier’s snicker informed him he hadn’t quite done so. The little German man was wildly waving a paper, making his way over to the other man with quick steps.

“The debtor, Mr. Downes.” Strauss ground out, shoving the paper into Arthur’s hands “You  _ still _ haven’t collected from him!”

Arthur had a feeling if he were anyone else, Strauss would have yelled at him and demanded Arthur to retrieve the money long before now.

Good thing Arthur wasn’t anyone else.

He sighed all the same, however, and closed his eyes against the annoyance he felt towards the other, he  _ really  _ hated collecting debts. Bill used to do it, until he got shot and Arthur had to cover for him a couple times and, for some reason, Strauss decided Arthur was much better suited for the task and put him on permanent debt duty. Arthur protested, and almost got his way, until Dutch wholeheartedly agreed with Strauss and reinforced that he would collect all debts from now on.

It wasn’t hard, Arthur’s gruff exterior and intimidating appearance did ninety percent of the work, it was that too many times, Arthur was sent after people that Dutch used to preach about  _ helping _ . Poor and destitute, folks who’ve had a hard run in life in need of some help, who Strauss took advantage of in their weakness and sends Arthur to pick at what’s left of them like a vulture.

Thomas Downes was a perfect example, the man was scrawny and sick but had intervened to save a man from Arthur’s fists even with the possibility of being beaten himself. He was constantly raising money for widows and orphans despite his own poverty, and, for a while, Arthur thought the man was raising the money as a ruse to pay off his debts, but after a couple conversations and watching him send multiple payments off through the post, Arthur didn’t doubt the man.

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to ride down to that farm, but with Herr Strauss raising Cain right in the middle of camp and drawing attention to him he could feel people watching them. To his right, he could see Micah leering at him and figured the bastard was enjoying the thought of discrediting him to Dutch with this. He could feel his teeth straining against how hard he was grinding them, his patience running thin already.

“Alright,  _ alright _ , quit your damn caterwauling,” He snapped, warping the paper in his clenched fist “I’ve just been busy, but I’ll go get your money.” Arthur made sure to glare Strauss into submission as he stalked past him and over to Magnolia May. He went through the motions of saddling up, taking solace in her gentle prodding for treats and attention, grinning when she got excited for a ride.

He rode out alone, letting Lenny, who was on guard duty, know he was heading out and when to expect him back. He let Magnolia trot at her preferred pace, admiring the small braids he often found in her mane from one of the girls or Jack at camp, and allowed himself to dwell on what he was about to do.

Dutch allowed Strauss to collect debts because they brought in good money, but he didn’t know when  _ debting _ became an okay method of getting money. Robbing was one thing, stealing from rich fellers or train passengers didn’t destroy their livelihoods, payroll could always be replaced, but this? Arthur shook his head, giving a grieved sigh, this was too much for what it was, ruining a man’s life for thirty dollars.

He wished he could change Dutch’s mind.

Shaking his head, he thought of Thomas Downes and his meager homestead with a small cornfield and some cattle, he thought of how collecting this debt would cause him to lose that  _ and _ his family. What else could he do, though? He couldn’t  _ not  _ collect the money, after that spectacle with Strauss, Dutch would be asking about the debt money as soon as he returned. 

“Fine mess I’ve gotten myself into, huh girl?” He asked Magnolia, tilting his hat to shield the early afternoon sun from his eyes as they rode closer to the Downes’ home. 

Arthur took a couple detours, having spotted a beautiful herd of pronghorn and bagging a large doe for camp, he also stopped to pick some more herbs for Miss Grimshaw to sneak into Pearson’s stewpot and to pay alms to the blind man who spoke in riddles.

“Your path is changing,” He spoke ominously “Towards a new beginning, and a new end. Be wise, for the best option may seem like the wrong choice.”

“Whatever you say, friend.” Arthur chuckled, giving the man a few extra coins before heading out, shrugging off the words as he rode off.

The afternoon sun was at its peak when Arthur finally arrived all too soon at the Downes’ place, where Thomas Downes was tending to his fields. Watching the man work, digging into the soil with a strain Arthur could see from yards away, as if he were working himself to death, made his gut twist something awful. 

There was only one reason for a man to work like that, the same reason Arthur was making a surprise visit.

He pulled Magnolia to a stop beneath a nearby tree, letting her rest in the shade and giving her an apple and succumbing to her desire for a second one and a good brush down before making his way to the Downes’s gate. To his left, he could hear the door to their home opening and knew that his family were stepping out to see who had stopped by.

Arthur prayed to God they’d step back inside, not wanting them to bear witness to what was about to happen, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Mr. Downes!”

_ That  _ wasn’t his voice calling to the farmer, it wasn’t him calling that made the man look up and look at Arthur with a nervous expression before suddenly grinning at something behind him.

Well, some _ one _ .

Even Arthur had to turn and see who was calling the man, and he wished he hadn’t.

A young woman was dismounting what was probably the  _ biggest  _ draft horse Arthur had ever seen, with an unbelievably long mane that shined with how well it was maintained, he had to admit the blue roan stallion was beautiful. The beast knickered at his rider, lipping at her hair in an attempt for attention that he obtained in the form of a few cooed words and a good scratch under the chin before she walked off.

The woman in mention was most likely in her twenties, she wore riding pants and high boots, which was uncommon in and of itself, but what really struck Arthur was the abnormal color of her hair, more strawberry than blonde, and the clean green color of her eyes. It had been years since Arthur had noticed a woman, besides Mary, and it suddenly struck him dumbfounded where he stood. She walked with a confidence that Arthur hadn’t seen before, her wide hips swaying gently rather than the over exaggerated roll a lot of women moved with. Her body type reminded Arthur of Karen, a natural fullness that some were born with, where most women would wear dresses to either cover or accentuate those features, this woman wore clothes that did neither. Her gray flannel was haphazardly tucked into her pants with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and the top two buttons undone, and she didn’t wear any jewelry or a handkerchief, honestly, her outfit was plain.

Arthur doubted anything else about her was plain, however.

“Miss Cadence, what  _ are  _ you doing here?” Mr. Downes called, holding back a coughing fit towards the end, but sounding pleasantly surprised.

The woman,  _ Miss Cadence _ , Arthur thought to himself, gave a bright smile seemingly to both men in front of her “I was riding down to Valentine and figured I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.” She came to a stop a few feet from Arthur “I brought some more medicine for you as well, and some stuff for Mrs. Downes and Archie,” Her attention turned to Arthur, and the man felt the urge to tilt his hat over his face to save it “Does your, er,  _ friend _ think he could help me unload it?” The way she called him  _ friend  _ made Arthur feel see through and foolish.

“I-I, uh, don’t think-”

“I don’t rightly mind.” Arthur cut Mr. Downes off, gesturing for  _ Miss Cadence  _ to lead the way.

She gave Arthur a smirk that bordered between playful and challenging before walking back to her horse, standing proudly by its flank and patting it “This here is Galahad, he’s people shy, so, be sure to properly introduce yourself first.”

The look that Galahad gave Arthur was anything but  _ shy.  _

“Arthur Morgan.” He nodded his hat in greeting, offering a palm to the stallion to sniff “Pleasure to meet you,  _ Miss Cadence _ .” 

The young woman gave an eye roll, but there was a fondness as she watched Galahad snuffle against Arthur’s hand, even more so when the outlaw fished out a few sugar cubes to butter the horse up further.

She reached into a saddle bag and began to pull out assorted bottles and jars “Would you mind reaching back here for the bigger stuff I’ve got loaded up?” She sounded muffled as she shifted through the bag some more. Arthur nodded and patted Galahad one last time on the muzzle, admiring the soft pink color his nose faded to, before ambling to the horses hindquarters. There were three large wrapped parcels, firmly secured to the back of the saddle with tied rope, and Arthur had no troubles untying them. Now, Arthur wasn’t a fool, he knew there was a reason  _ Miss Cadence  _ asked him to help her, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had an idea of why he was here.

He was more curious about what she was going to  _ do _ .

He couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of his eye, being this close the could make out the slight button shape to her nose and the sharp definition of her Cupid’s bow in contrast to the soft fullness of her bottom lip..  _ Shit. _

_ Pull yourself together, Morgan! _ He mentally reprimanded himself, the voice in his head sounding far too much like Miss Grimshaw, and shook his head to clear the thoughts away, so what if she was unmistakably pretty- it didn’t mean  _ nothin _ ’. Besides, it was inappropriate for some old, worn down  _ criminal _ to be having such thoughts about a woman at  _ least  _ ten years younger than him.

“So,” Her lilting voice pulled him from his thoughts “You’re here for Mr. Downes’ debt, right?”

Arthur paused, blinking at the woman “Pardon?” He managed, not expecting her to know  _ exactly  _ why he was there.

She gave him a small, but sad smile “Mrs. Downes told me he’d taken a loan a little while ago, and that he’s been running himself ragged to get the money to pay it back.” 

Arthur sighed, feeling that familiar clutch in his chest, but didn’t say anything.

“Ran into you by chance today,” She mused, fiddling with a jar “You’re completely obvious, by the way,” Arthur hid his flush beneath the brim of his hat, yanking on the ropes harder than necessary.

“I’ve been bringing Thomas medicine for a few months now, he’s always been prone to sickness, but that didn’t stop him from helping me when we were strangers.” Her hands tightened on the jar and she looked at Arthur, green eyes glassy but determined.

“I ran into a woman at Emerald Ranch a few weeks ago,” Arthur flinched, knowing who she was talking about “Described you and your horse to a T, and I was so ready to shoot you and send you back to that smarmy German bastard-”  _ That  _ shocked a laugh out of Arthur, and she swatted his arm “Don’t laugh! I’m berating you.” She scowled

“Sorry, sorry.” Arthur placated “Continue.”

“Anyways,” She huffed, blotting the wetness from her eyes “I was ready to shoot you until I ride up and see you being all sweet on your horse, making sure she’s got shade and food before you leave her, and you looked so sad I just  _ knew _ I couldn’t.” She frowned, looking almost childish. 

The man stood there, dumbstruck again as he listened to this woman and wondering who she was to be able to talk like that. To look at some dingy outlaw like him and see more than a crude face and big guns.

“So, tell me,” She demands without raising her voice “Why would an outlaw do something he  _ doesn’t  _ want to do? Seems to defeat the purpose.”

Arthur paused, feeling a moment of vulnerability he’d never felt before, before answering honestly 

“I ain’t good for much else, ma’am.”

Something softens in those fierce eyes, and Arthur wonders if he even deserves that, as she stacks the bottles and jars she’s holding onto her saddle.

“Whoever told you that’s a fool, living like that’s a waste of a man’s life, really.” She tells him like it’s a matter of fact, then grabs one last tonic bottle from her bag to put with the rest “That woman at Emerald Ranch, she told me you were kind to her, in a sense, and even  _ ‘helped’ _ her leave that awful man.”

Arthur shook his head “Naw, just told her what was best to keep outta more debt is all, also, that bastard has it coming.” He gave a throaty chuckle as he waited, holding the parcels from off Galahad. They walked together to the porch, where Mrs. Downes was standing at the open door with a look of suspicion directed at Arthur.

“Ma’am.” He nodded in greeting, feeling guilt stir in his gut.

“Brought you something, Mrs. Downes.” Miss Cadence chimed in, gesturing to the bundle in her hands and the parcels in Arthur’s, and Mrs. Downes gave a fond smile to the other woman.

“Now, Monroe,” She chided “I’ve told you, you’ve already done too much for us.”

_ Monroe _ , Arthur looked over at her, he’d never heard someone named Monroe unless it was their surname. She just smiled brighter at Mrs. Downes, hopping up the porch steps “I couldn’t do enough, besides, these are gifts!”

“Medicine isn’t a gift, young lady.” Mrs. Downes mused, hands on her hips, for a poor farmer’s wife, she held herself with the poise rich women could only imitate.

“It is if I give it in love.” Monroe smirked, handing the tonics and balms to a young man who’d walked out as well at the sounds of their conversation “Handmade and everything.”

The boy thanked her profusely, scurrying back inside with the medicine, while Mrs. Downes looked fondly at them both. Monroe took one of the parcels from Arthur, unwrapping it to reveal a nice day gown in spring appropriate colors “Not the clothes, though, I couldn’t stitch a patch, let alone these.”

Mrs. Downes gasped, eyes shining as she reached out and grabbed Monroe’s hand “Child..” She started “This is  _ too much _ .” Monroe squeezed her’s in return, and Arthur felt like he was intruding on a personal moment. “After everything you’ve done for me, I don’t think I could ever repay you, however, I want to be able to at least give you some of the same happiness you gave me.” She explained, then looked at Arthur who’s brow was furrowed in confusion.

“Mr. Downes found me in New Austin a few years ago,” She told him “Saved me from a bad man, and gave me somewhere safe to stay. I owe them my life, and since they won’t take my money, either- they get this.” Her words were soft and sweet, but there was a plea in them. A desperation that showed in her eyes, as if she believed Arthur was a good enough man to spare Mr. Downes and his family from the harrowing fate of debt. 

Monroe has tried to give Mr. Downes the money he needed, Arthur realized, but the man wasn’t one to take from a young woman in such a fashion. Especially from a woman he helped, having not sought recompense for his kind heart. The medicine, the clothes, they were  _ necessities _ , not gifts, because they couldn’t afford them, but Monroe wouldn’t let them feel guilt for taking her offerings. Arthur felt his throat clog, a wave of humiliation crashing through him as he cursed himself for being such a damn  _ fool _ . 

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, but he knew now he couldn’t leave with what little they had, he cleared his throat in hopes of speaking clearly.

“Mrs. Downes,” He got her attention and her son’s, who had come back to grab the parcels that Arthur handed over, the two giving him a weary expression “I’ve come to absolve your debt to Herr Strauss, you don’t owe nobody nothing no more.” The words felt right and wrong, right because he knew he was sparing this family, and wrong because he was going against the gang and Dutch, taking away from valuable camp funds that would feed and clothe his family.

Hopefully he could give a decent enough amount to the donations box at camp that he wouldn’t have to say nothing to nobody.

Mrs. Downes staggered against her son, mouth agape and tears welling in her eyes, disbelief and relief painted her features. Her son caught her, and looked to Arthur with an expression of elation no boy needed to wear “Thank you, sir.” He breathed, clutching his mother.

They were free.

Arthur just nodded, adjusting his hat over his brow “Y’all have a good day now.” And walked back to his horse, giving Mr. Downes a wave from where the man was watching him in the field. He greeted Magnolia with a few easy pats, grabbing her reins and placing his foot in the stirrup to hoist himself on his saddle. What a fine mess he’s done got himself into, falling over himself for a pretty lady  _ again _ , making a fool of himself  _ again _ , when was he going to learn?

“Arthur! Mr. Morgan!” Monroe called, running up to him, looking bright and enthusiastic, she stopped in front of him and grabbed his sleeve, keeping him standing on the ground “Thank you, I was expecting to just pay you myself, but this,” She paused to smile even brighter at him “Thank you, and if truly needed I can-”

“Keep your money, Miss, it weren’t a problem.” He cut her off, trying to ignore the warmth of her hand against his arm.

She looked wistful, almost, as she tugged his sleeve gently before getting on the balls of her feet to reach and place a small kiss on his cheek. 

“You’re wasted on fools, Mr. Morgan, and they don’t know how lucky they are.” She murmured in his ear, this close Arthur can smell the sharp natural scent of her horse and the mild smell of whatever soap she uses. Her own natural smell is there too, it reminds Arthur of fresh peaches but it’s soft and nearly lost in the other scents. He stands still, jaw slack as she pulls away and  _ winks  _ at him before returning back to the Downes family.

Arthur mounted his horse mechanically, riding off with a head full of static and conflicting thoughts. He’d never met a woman like Monroe, she didn’t try to convince him to change, she didn’t curse him for what he was either. She came to Arthur to protect those she cared for, he doubted she would have cared if he was collecting from anyone else. In all honesty, Arthur didn’t care about most people he collected from, but, these were one of the few times he wished he wasn’t the one doing this.

He chuckled when he recalled her previous desire to shoot him, how she was so ready to take on a seasoned outlaw without hesitation. Though, Arthur wasn’t sure how seeing him with Magnolia changed her mind.

“ _ You looked so sad, I just knew I couldn’t _ .”

Did he? Arthur never thought of himself as  _ sad,  _ he’d been called sour and  _ angry _ , sure- but never sad. He sighed, reaching for his canteen and taking a long drag of water, people didn’t talk to Arthur like that, not the girls at camp, not  _ Mary _ , hell, not even Dutch and Hosea had spoken to him like that since he was a boy trying to find his way growing up. Yet here comes this anomaly of a woman, seeing something in Arthur he can’t even see himself, and decides he’s worth her kindness and affection, even if all she wanted from him was to take her money instead of Downes’. 

On his way back, Arthur saved a stage coach from being robbed by the O'Driscolls and was allowed its valuables from the driver, which, along with the money looted from the robbers, was plenty to cover Downe’s debt.

When he made it back to camp, Arthur was quick to set Magnolia up with the other horses for some well deserved grazing and get the money into the donations box. He recorded it in the ledger as debt paid before unloading the pronghorn at Pearson’s and setting about to make sure all the camp chores were done for the day, Arthur ended up chopping firewood and hauling water to the wash bins until the sun got low. He felt good, mostly, there was money in the box and one less destitute family on his conscience, even if going against Dutch’s orders left a bitter feeling in him.

He was grabbing a bowl of stew from the pot when Herr Strauss found him once again.

“Ah, Herr Morgan,” He greeted “How did you get on?”

Arthur swallowed a tough bite of meat, looking down at the skinny man,  _ smarmy _ Monroe called him.

Smarmy indeed.

“Got along just fine, Strauss,” He chuckled “Just fine.”

If Arthur went to bed that night and dreamt of strawberry hair and peach kisses, well, that was no one’s business but his own.


	2. Fool’s Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar scene with a twist, and what comes after.
> 
> Or: Hosea is a menace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m baaaack ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and thank you Milady_Readsalot for being my first comment! <3  
> I never had any cares when I posted the first chapter, it was really more of an accountability thing to challenge myself to finally finish a project, but after seeing the kudos I got way too excited!
> 
> Anyways, this chapter might seem kinda odd- especially towards the final third of it- and that’s because I got four chapters in then chopped this one in half and made it two that actually now have a whole new chapter between them. So it’s kinda wonky but nothing I do makes it any better so here we go! I got this sudden burst of inspiration that required me to fiddle with my stuff, so all mistakes are my own, but I still really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Have some Hosea and Charles!

While Clemens Point was a beautiful outdoor paradise, the town of Rhodes is decidedly less   
than perfect. It was a red dust covered community of backwards, outdated morals, fueled by an age old feud between families. Dutch and Hosea were gearing up to con both, the former already tying them in with the Greys through that drunk fool of a sheriff, and the latter looking for an opening with the Braithwaites using the shine they’d apprehended in the swamps.

Arthur didn’t think headaches could last as long as his was.

The rumor of gold filtered through camp, igniting an eager excitement through the gang, spirits lifted in hopes of a big take. 

_ The  _ big take.

Arthur wasn’t too sure how he felt about this  _ gold _ , however, it seemed like a fool’s errand to him. Not like anyone would listen to him, though, seeing how any time he objected, Micah or Bill would call him a  _ doubter  _ or  _ pessimistic.  _ Even Dutch had begun to question Arthur when he’d speak instead of trusting his words like he used to, and he didn’t know how he felt about that. 

He pulls another load of goods from the wagon, glad he didn’t have to go on store runs with Sadie anymore after their first trip to the Rhodes general store. Arthur didn’t think he could handle the hurricane of a woman while doing something as simple as trying to buy potatoes, especially knowing the chances of her starting a war in the street were higher than not.

Putting away the last crate of food, Arthur wipes the sweat from his brow and hops down from the wagon, he definitely wasn’t a fan of the soupy heat this in part of the country but anything beats the mountains in his opinion. He makes his way to the back of Pearson’s wagon and grabs a fresh canteen of water, draining it in one go before putting it with the other empties. Wiping the excess moisture from his mouth, he heads back to the wagon to let the horses off the harnesses when he hears John call for him.

“Over here!” Arthur hollers back, unhooking the various straps and buckles that connected the horses to the wagon, rubbing the places on the horses where the harness liked to dig in. The stallions whinny in appreciation, happily munching on the treats offered to them as Arthur leads them back to their graze patch. 

John meets him on his way back, and Arthur can’t for the life of him understand how the other man can wear a damn  _ leather jacket  _ in this god forsaken weather. 

“Hosea needs you for a job, he figured out what to do about all that shine y’all stole.” John says, jerking a thumb to the tree line surrounding camp.

“We didn’t steal nothing,” Arthur laughs “We  _ apprehended  _ it, as  _ sheriff deputies _ .” 

John snorts, rolling his eyes “Still can’t believe you let Dutch rope you into being  _ deputized. _ ” 

Arthur shakes his head with a smile that didn’t quite fit his face “You can’t make Dutch do anything he don’t wanna do.”

The other man seems to sense whatever odd feeling Arthur was having, but doesn’t comment, instead he nods his head some as if he agrees before heading off with a short word of farewell.

Arthur makes his way across camp, stopping by Magnolia for his revolvers, just because Dutch said no trouble or weapons in Rhodes didn’t mean Arthur was going into that backwater snake pit without some kind of protection. He surrenders to Magnolia May’s demands for attention, rubbing her muzzle and scratching under her chin. With his Schofield and LeMat securely in their holsters, Arthur finishes making his way to Hosea who is sitting on a separate loaded wagon. 

Turns out Hosea’s grand plan was to sell the liquor  _ back  _ to the Braithwaites, Arthur isn’t ure how that was supposed to get them  _ in  _ with the family, he figured that would do the opposite. Hosea seems determined, however, and Arthur hadn’t seen him in such a good mood in a while, so he decides to go along with the man’s scheme.

While driving the wagon, Arthur allows himself to think about things he doesn’t feel comfortable with dwelling on at camp, his thoughts flitting over random thoughts and job plans before ending there they always did.

Miss Monroe Cadence.

Arthur hadn’t seen the woman since being at the Downes’ a few weeks ago, but she stuck with him all this time, her kind words echoing in his thoughts and her fierce gaze piercing his dreams. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t rode through New Hanover any time he was close by, hoping to ride past that beast of a horse, Galahad, and see Miss Cadence again. Even if just to know his memory of her served the actual woman justice. He shakes his head some as he looks out over the tree line, admiring the beauty of the sun filtering through leaves, he was a fool of a man to think that woman was even still thinking about him. 

Catherine Braithwaite is a hard woman with a mile wide mean streak, and more sons than Arthur thought a woman capable of having. She pays a decent amount for the moonshine, even knowing how they’d gotten it, and paid them even  _ more  _ to sell it in Rhodes- just to piss off Sheriff Grey. 

This whole feud was giving Arthur a bad feeling in his stomach.

Sure enough, him and Hosea were back in the wagon, the older man putting Arthur in silly props and giving him the roll of a man turned idiot. He really hated when this happened, trying to voice his discomfort in the situation, but Hosea was having none of it.

_ “Just look sad and stay quiet, even  _ you  _ can do that, Arthur.”  _ Hosea tells him, wrenching something buried deep in the man he hadn’t realized could be hurt so easily.

Arthur sighs, giving up the fight with a shrug and deciding to just keep driving towards Rhodes.

_ “You’re wasted on fools, Mr. Morgan, and they don’t know how lucky they are.” _

_ ‘If only.’  _ He thinks, pulling into the saloon and hopping off the wagon with Hosea, and begins unloading the moonshine.

Arthur stands back and lets the other man work his magic, smooth talking the men at the back entrance and solidifying their way in with a couple dollars to each of them. There was no limit to what some well placed words and a few dollars could get you, Arthur felt as he walked through the back of the building to the bar. 

While he prepared bottles of shine and shot glasses for the patrons, Hosea found himself a nice perch to begin his show, the older man promising free drinks for the next hour along with cracking a few jokes to usher in the good mood. Pouring drinks isn’t anything new to Arthur, neither were over boisterous fools loosened up just enough by hard liquor to be annoying, but what did test him was the garbage these men yammered on about.

Colored folk, natives, women, this family, or that one, all of it ignorant horse shit Arthur would normally break teeth for. 

Lucky them he was “Fenton” for the evening.

He grinds his teeth to keep quiet as he pours more drinks, opting to listen to the jaunty tune of the piano across the bar room. Focusing on the task at hand, Arthur missed new patrons entering the bar unless they directly asked for a drink, he’s only able to tell they were new because they’re sober when they approached him.

One hour turns to three, and the night is lively and showed no signs of slowing down. Their shine is a third gone by this point, but that didn’t seem to be a problem. The less Arthur had to drag back to camp, the better, Uncle nor Bill needed any “assistance” to laze about camp uselessly all day. 

A rap of knuckles on wood caught Arthur’s attention, he looks up to pour the next drink and completely fumbles.

“So,  _ Fenton _ ,” A familiar voice teases, sounding lighter than he remembered “I see you’re quite the barkeep.”

Arthur fidgets under the brim of his straw hat, tongue thick around the pipe between his teeth, cursing Hosea for making it so that Arthur speaking would blow their cover. 

Monroe Cadence  _ giggles  _ at Arthur’s obvious predicament, lacing her fingers under her rounded chin as she watches him “Could I get some water, please?” She requests prettily, something the man didn’t know was possible. He nods briefly, using the time of fixing her a glass of basic tap water to recover what little wits he had, he wasn’t sure what would bring her to Rhodes with it’s small minded view on women and whatnot, but he can’t deny that he was glad to see her again.

He sits the water before her on the bar with a nod and goes to fill the empty glasses that made it back to the bar with liquor for the ruddy faced men who had gathered.

“Aye, Marty” One man slurs, his receding hairline and overgrown mustache unkempt in his drunken state “I ain’t ever seen a woman in  _ pants  _ before.” 

The man on his right, presumably Marty, leers as he eyes Monroe with a glassy gaze “Obviously needs to be reminded why women are supposed to be in skirts.” He smirks “ _ Easy access _ .”

They snort and hee haw as if they’re hilarious, blubbering out random insults between chortles.

Arthur slams the bottle of moonshine down on the bar hard, spooking the two men in the midst of their drunken antics. Monroe sips on her water as if oblivious to the men next to her, but there’s a gleam of appreciation in the look she gives Arthur. 

The original drunk gives Arthur a hard look, leaning against the bar, Marty giving him a once over as well.

“You got a problem, Fenton?” The man barks, breath rancid with liquor

“You know he too dumb to talk, Jerry.” Marty jabs, a mean look twisted on his greasy face as he spoke. Jerry snorts, somehow amused with the information that everyone knew already, snatching a glass of shine and downing it with a fit of coughs.

“And you’re too dumb to know when to shut your mouth.” Monroe shoots back “No wonder the only women you know are the ones you pay for that ‘ _ easy access’ _ . How much you pay, a couple dollars for a couple minutes?” 

Arthur chuckles under his breath, amused at how red Jerry turns even with being so flushed with drink.

Marty doesn’t find it as funny, leaning too close into Monroe’s space than Arthur was alright with “You’re askin’ for trouble, Miss,” He growls “And women like you don’t last long ‘round these parts.” The threat is clear, along with the way he can’t keep his eyes from trailing down her neck and settling on her covered chest before flicking back up. There is disdain, but also the desire some men have to break a woman beneath them, and Arthur’s hand twitches towards his hip.

A sudden bout of shouting breaks the moment, Lemoyne raiders flooding the saloon seeking revenge for their stolen liquor, bullets flying soon after. Arthur reaches over and grabs Monroe, pulling her over behind the bar with him before coming back up and unloading a chamber from his Schofield into various raiders in the bar. A series of shots from his right startle him, and he turns to see Monroe firing  _ his  _ LeMat at the men in the stairwell.

“When did you get that?” He asks over the noise, shooting the two men on the floor above

“Just now!” She chimes, coming from behind the bar when they’d picked off the men downstairs “Should probably shoot that Marty fella too, but..” She trails off with a shrug.

Shouting from Hosea upstairs cut their conversation short, pulling the two of them to the next floor as well, Arthur making sure to keep Monroe well covered. He hands her bullets between rounds, taking note of how well she could shoot, watching as she picks off men almost effortlessly. 

Arthur manages to shoot the man off Hosea, and the two coming up behind, he grabs the old man and runs out to the balcony for their escape. There are more raiders outside trying to take their wagon, but the horses are kicking up such a fuss it is impossible for them to get anywhere. Time seems to slow down when Arthur unloads his revolver into the heads of those men, a few seconds feeling closer to a minute before they suddenly thump to the ground with a choked off scream and a splatter of brains. 

An impressed whistle from Monroe makes him flush “A good barkeep and a  _ better  _ shot? Why,  _ Fenton _ , aren't you a catch.”

Arthur grumbles, firmly ignoring the smirk Hosea is giving him as they jump off the balcony and onto the wagon.

“Do you need any assistance, ma’am?” Hosea calls back up to Monroe, who is still on the balcony above, the approaching thunder of hooves warning them to make a hasty retreat.

Instead of answering, Monroe whistles a couple times and galloping up next to the wagon is Galahad, looking as huge and regal as ever, positioning under the balcony for Monroe to hop down on. The beast doesn’t even flinch under the impact, his sturdy body absorbing it as if it were nothing, he snorts back at Monroe and is rewarded in massaging fingers through his mane.

It’s Hosea's turn to whistle, nudging Arthur covertly in a manner that meant they’d have a lot to talk about on the way back to camp. Monroe adjusts herself in the saddle before firing the LeMat at the horsemen rounding the corner towards them, knocking them off their mounts.

“I’d suggest we get out of here.” She states

“Agreed.” Hosea quips, him and Arthur scrambling to get in the front of the wagon and ride out.

Monroe takes the lead, Galahad’s large frame is intimidating and worse when he barreles into a rider, the horse bouncing off the draft as if it were a stuffed toy. Arthur makes sure to keep her covered, picking off men who came from behind and in blind spots, shouting at her when more men were coming or where they needed to turn.

It didn’t take long to get well out of Rhodes, Hosea pulls the wagon over off the road to recover his breath as well as take stock of what they had left on the wagon.

“Well  _ that  _ was something.” He laughs, breathless but unharmed.

Monroe trots Galahad up next to the wagon, leaning against his neck to catch her own breath before laughing herself, Arthur coming off the wagon and walking over to her.

“You alright?” He asks her softly, giving her a once over to check for injuries, making sure to pet Galahad when he knickered at him. 

Rotten beast.

“I’m fine,” She waves him off, sitting back up to roll her shoulders and stretch her back “And you?” She returns the question along with his gun.

“All good.” Arthur assures her, holstering his gun before stepping back so Monroe can dismount her horse

“ _ I’m  _ just fine, thanks for asking.” Hosea calls from behind them, sounding more amused than Arthur liked “Now, Arthur, introduce us, it’s only polite.” He teases as he comes off the wagon.

Said outlaw hides another grumble about “politeness” under his breath before turning back to Hosea, trying to ignore the warmth he can feel from her standing so close or the gentle smell similar to peaches that has haunted his dreams.

Monroe has no such reservations, offering Hosea a hand of greeting that he readily shakes “Monroe.” She introduces herself, giving a smile that did funny things to Arthur’s chest.

“Hosea Matthews.” The older man grins “Thank you for your help, made things easier for sure.”

Monroe shrugs it off kindly “No problem, it was fun.”

Arthur casts a surprised look at that,  _ fun _ ? She had  _ fun _ shooting a bunch of raiders in a saloon with two old outlaws?

Such an odd woman.

Hosea laughs, finding it enjoyable at least “Well I’ll know who to call on my next excursion,” He jokes “Arthur here is no fun.”

Arthur cuts him a look, feeling his face heat, and curses he’d lost his hat to hide it “Some of us just know when it’s time to retire, old man.”

He’s waved off easily enough, Monroe chuckling at their exchange before turning back to Arthur and looking up at him through dark lashes “You don’t seem so  _ retired _ to me.” She muses cheekily, tapping on his mostly empty gun belt where there was still a bullet in its slot. Arthur chokes on his tongue, vaguely registering Hosea hiding a harsh laugh under a cough, as he tries to clear his throat.

She is trying to  _ kill  _ him.

“Anyways,” She starts, pulling back from the man “It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Morgan, even if still under questionable circumstances.” 

Arthur cocks an unimpressed brow at her “I do believe I saw you shooting men too,  _ Miss Cadence. _ ” He reminds her.

“Men that  _ you _ riled up in the first place, or is that  _ not  _ their moonshine you’ve got loaded up?” She hums, her lips curling like a satisfied cat as she spoke.

He chuckles, hooking his thumbs into the loops of his jeans as he speaks “Actually, that shine there was  _ legally apprehended  _ by the Rhodes Sheriff Deputies.” He smirks, glad to know he isn’t completely drowning. Monroe runs her tongue across her bottom lip, a natural action that Arthur now has seared into his brain to haunt him for who knows how long, then pursues them in thought. 

“So,  _ Fenton _ , a man turned idiot,” She elaborates, checking the facts off on her fingers “Is a Rhodes Sheriff’s Deputy, handing out free  _ Braithwaite liquor  _ in a saloon owned by the Greys? My, oh my.” She tsked 

Arthur opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes, the only sound is Hosea in stitches behind Monroe. Bastard.

Monroe looks far too self satisfied for Arthur’s liking, feeling the need to shake her like she had him, he doesn’t really think about what he does next until it is too late.

“ _ Either way _ ,” He rumbles, stepping closer to her, taking stock of how she seems to curve into where he bent as if perfectly fitting into his space “Ain’t no man innocent here.” He tells her, reaching up and tucking a stray lock of her strawberry hair behind her ear from where her braid is coming loose from the evening’s activities.

Monroe is quiet, and Arthur drinks in the flush he can see staining her cheeks even in the little light the night gives. Her hair is soft and curled just so, wrapping loosely around Arthur’s fingers as he puts it back in place, and her skin soft under his touch when he let it linger as he pulls his hand back. He fights the urge to press his thumb against her bottom lip, not knowing why or how he was having these urges, as he leans down just enough to meet her eyes.

“Thank you for tonight.” He tells her softly, before straightening back up and walking back to the wagon. Arthur pays no mind to Hosea, who is bo doubt  _ dying _ over their exchange, as he pulls himself up into the driver’s seat and grips the reins. He is ready to ride off when Galahad pulls up next to him, Monroe in his saddle and looking at Arthur with an unreadable expression.

“I’m building a homestead,” She suddenly tells him “In Big Valley, north of Black Bone. I could use some extra hands.” It’s an offer, and something else Arthur can’t place.

“Well, thank you, ma’am,” Hosea cuts in “We’ll definitely come by and see what we can do when we have the time.”

Monroe idly picks at her saddle, hiding nerves beneath busy hands “I suppose chasing fools gold is mighty time consuming.” She muses before grabbing Galahad’s reins “You’ll have to let me know how it goes, have a good evening, gentlemen.”

With a small click of her heels, Monroe and Galahad are taking off into the night.

It takes Arthur a moment to compose himself before driving off towards camp, he gets about thirty seconds before Hosea is on him like a wildcat.

“So,” He starts “ _ Miss Cadence? _ ” He imitates Arthur from earlier with a poorly concealed smirk.

Arthur groans so loud it spooks the birds from a tree “ _ Please _ , Hosea.” He bega, not having the energy to handle this kind of talk.

Hosea holds his hands up in a placating manner “Just curious is all, the two of you seemed rather close.” He prods and Arthur sighs.

“Fine,” He concedes “We’ve met before.” 

“Just once?” Hosea asks with honest surprise, making the other man’s ears burn.

“Just once, a few weeks ago.” He doesn’t elaborate, not wanting Hosea to know he never actually collected debt from the Downes. Even if he was sure the man wouldn’t care, he’s worried one misstep would have Dutch demanding to know why Arthur had undermined him. 

Hosea nods, looking ahead of them into the dark “I don’t ever recall you like that with Mary.” He says suddenly, making Arthur jerk in his seat “You always seemed so.. stiff, like you were trying to fit into something a size too small.” Arthur isn’t sure what the man means, but nods all the same.

“She ain’t nothing like Mary.” He admitts, having never thought to compare the two women before now, not really liking the thought of comparing two completely different people. Probably because thinking of Mary opened up an age old wound that could never quite heal, exposing a weakness he didn’t like, raw and throbbing as it was prodded.

“A good deal younger, too.” Hosea coughs into his fist, as if he were halfway trying to smother the words “Woman ain’t near thirty is she?” It doesn’t  _ sound  _ like a reprimand, but it  _ feels  _ like one.

“Didn’t think to ask.” Arthur tries, knowing the excuse was poor at best, anyone with half a brain could tell Monroe is barely in her twenties. Just makes Arthur feel dirtier than he already is, leering at some girl who was just barely a woman, a washed up old man chasing young tail like he was some sleaze at the bar.

“I didn’t think you would have to,” Hosea voices as if he were a mind reader “Though,” He allows “The way she handles herself does make her seem like she’s lived a while longer than she has.”

Arthur remembers what Monroe had told him about Thomas Downes finding her in New Austin, how he’d saved her from a bad sort of man, and he wonders just  _ what  _ could age such a young woman in that sort of way. 

His mind drifts to Mrs. Adler and he could only imagine what might have happened. 

“She escaped a bad man, a few years ago.” He tells Hosea “I suppose her building this ranch is her way of picking herself back up.” Hosea gives him a searching look, but Arthur doesn’t give anything else as they pull into camp. The two of them are unstrapping the horses when Hosea speaks again

“She mentioned fools' gold,” He quirks “Took one of us and knew why we were here.”

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckles “She’s got a knack for that.” 

Finally getting to bed, even with only a couple hours till dawn, Arthur lets himself think in depth about his encounter with Monroe. From the talented way she handled a gun, to the soft way her hair curled around his fingers, he sighs deeply and lets the swelling sensation in his chest lull him to sleep.

  
  


Waking up only a few hours later has Arthur’s eyes dry and aching, along with his muscles and bones, everything cracking and popping as he hauls himself from his cot. Coffee, he needs coffee, dark as he can get it. He drags himself to the percolator, giving silent praise that it’s already full and Miss Grimshaw stands there with a steaming mug in her hand. Arthur pours a full cup, not waiting for it to cool before downing half of it in one go, it burns his tongue and throat but he can’t be bothered. He has another cup after his first before he feels alive enough to begin his day, he figures he could make sure chores are done before he sets out for whatever scheme Dutch has cooked up for him today. 

Tending to the horses with Kieran is therapeutic in a way, and seeing the young man has such a knack for horses is refreshing as well, he’s glad to know they’re getting good care. Unloading the hay bales and bags of chicken feed is a good morning workout for his sore muscles, moving out the stiff aches left behind from the night before. By the time Dutch gets around to summoning him, Arthur has done just about everything there is to do at camp besides the laundry and cooking. He ambles over to where the man is standing in front of his tent, Molly sitting primmly inside while admiring her reflection in a small mirror.

“Dutch,” Arthur greets

Dutch brings a hand to Arthur’s shoulder, patting it before bringing him in close “Hosea told me you too caught yourselves a bit of trouble.” He chuckles in good nature “He also said y’all made out pretty well, too.” In which he meant payment from Catherine Braithwaite. 

Arthur shrugs “Was all Hosea, I just poured drinks and shot some bastards.” 

The older man chuckles at that “We’re getting close, Arthur,” He says in sudden solemnity “We get the gold from these two inbred hillbilly families, and we get out of here.” 

_ Fool’s gold.  _ Arthur thinks back to Monroe, wondering what she knew about all this, mindlessly nodding along to Dutch.

“I’ll leave you to it, Arthur.” Dutch dismisses him, letting go of his shoulder and turning back into his tent, Arthur leaves to Magnolia without a word. There’s work to be done outside the campground, and the faster he can make off the better his chances are he won’t have to talk to anyone else about the night before.

He’s situating Magnolia’s tack when Charles approaches him, bow slung over his shoulder and a calm look on his face, Arthur greets him with a gruff but friendly “Charles.” As always.

“Any specific jobs today?” Charles asks, his lighter tone giving away his curiosity.

Arthur shakes his head “Nah, most likely just some hunting and finishin’ off them Raiders that keep giving us trouble.”

The other man nods before asking “Mind some company?”

“Sure, why not?” Arthur allows, Charles is great company and a better shot which meant they were bound to bring in a good take for camp.

The two of them ride out not too long after, Magnolia and Taima knickering as they trot through the wooded area surrounding camp while Arthur and Charles discuss hunting spots. Charles mentions there being a lot of wild boar in this region, and that bringing in a couple would set the camp up with plenty of meat for the next few days. It’s a good idea, Pearson was having trouble keeping rations saved due to their abrupt move from Horseshoe and the general lack of hunting from most everyone else.

Arthur appreciates this about Charles, how hardworking and dedicated he is despite only having been with them for a little under a year. He could always be found around camp doing repairs, or crafting helpful tools and weapons for other members of the gang, if he wasn’t off hunting for food. It’s nice to know that there was someone at camp that Arthur could completely trust the wellbeing of the gang with.

They ride in compatible silence, exchanging a comment every so often but mainly enjoying that they don’t have to force small talk with one another. There’s no raiders out it seems, all of their usual haunts are empty and there’s no ambushes while they ride through the bayous of Lemoyne. 

Arthur’s a little bummed, seeing how he was looking forward to letting off some steam, but he gets over it quickly when Charles finds fresh boar tracks steepled into the marsh.

It’s when they’re in the woods following the tracks that Charles causes Arthur to choke on the water he’s drinking.

“Hosea mentioned you’d met someone.”

Arthur sputters and coughs, swallowing the water wrong and painfully inhaling it into his sinuses, while Charles watches impassively as the man struggles not to die on his horse.

“When did he say that?” The words rattle in Arthur’s abused diaphragm, his waterlogged sinuses making him sound stuffy, Charles lets his amusement show in the uptick of his brow.

“This morning,” He’s definitely teasing now “You were practically sprinting to Magnolia, I asked Hosea why he thought it was so funny and he told me about last night.”

Arthur flushes from his ears to his toes it feels, his embarrassment is swift and he tries to hide under the brim of his hat.

“Old man’s a horrible gossip.” He coughs, hoping to play off the conversation “Should take everything he says with a heap of salt.”

Charles isn’t convinced if the way he fully turns to face Arthur says anything.

“It’s  _ nothing _ .” Arthur tries again.

Charles’ doesnt budge.

Arthur groans, slumping back into his saddle with little finesse “Fine,” He allows “We ran into a woman I’d met a while ago. That’s all.”

“Hosea didn’t seem to think that’s all it was.” Charles comments like the merciless bastard he is.

This isn’t the conversation he wanted to be having, Arthur’s head is already so full of jumbled thoughts of the woman he can hardly focus on anything else.  _ “So what if she’s attractive _ , _ ” _ the man tries to reason with himself  _ “There are plenty of pretty women out here.” _

_ “Not one as good of a shot, though.”  _ A traitorous little voice chimes back

_ “She didn’t even flinch when you killed those men.” _

_ “Remember what she told you when she first met you?” _

_ “Mary never spoke to you like that, she always tried to change you from the very beginning.” _

_ “She offered you an  _ out  _ from the Rhodes families, she doesn’t want you to get hurt.” _

Arthur shakes off the voice, sighing out loud at Charles’ less than impressed expression before sitting back up. He could trust Charles, the man wasn’t loyal to Dutch like the others, he was loyal to everyone in the gang and never spilled details they gave him. Just like Arthur, the people at camp knew their secrets were safe with the man. He also knew Charles wouldn’t poke fun like Hosea, he’d listen with a word or two of wisdom when appropriate but he would t judge Arthur any differently. Maybe find his foolishness a bit amusing but that wasn’t anything Arthur couldn’t understand.

“Her name’s Monroe,” He explains “I met her when I was collecting the Downes’ debt.”

Charles nods “I was wondering how that went, I knew you didn’t want to collect from them, and you came back.. _different_ that day. I didn’t want to pry, though, so I take it she’s the reason?”

Arthur blows a deep breath from between his teeth “Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck “She convinced me to absolve their debt.” It feels like a relief and a burden to admit it, the weight on his chest gone but the one on his shoulders heavier.

The other man blinks in surprise, sitting up a little straighter as they ride through the thicket “How did she manage that?”

“She was going to pay me herself,” The memory of the young woman’s glassy but determined eyes makes something twist in Arthur “Ran into me by accident, she was stopping by to drop off medicine and clothes for them. When she saw me she threatened to shoot me then forgave me in the same breath, then she called me a bad outlaw.” He chuckles 

“A bad outlaw?”

“For doing something I didn’t want to do.” He explained, Charles nods but doesn’t look like he completely understands.

“Turns out the Downes had found Monroe in a bad spot, took her in and helped her get on her feet, despite Mr. Downes’ sickness and their poverty. Now she makes his medicine and gives them the things they couldn’t afford while working off their debt.”

Despite absolving their debt, Arthur still feels sleazy thinking about how wrong he’d done the Downes and other poor folk insnared by Strauss. It’s why he hadn’t picked up the next list of names from the man, ducking away at every opportunity to avoid the problems that would arise if he had to flat out refuse to collect them. He’d gotten away with paying the debt himself once, and he wasn’t keen on pushing his luck by trying again. 

“So she gets there, says she wants to shoot you, changes her mind, you talk, and what? She paid you and you parted was as unlikely friends?” Charles asks, disbelief coloring his tone.

Arthur shakes his head, fidgeting in his saddle before pulling Magnolia to a stop, he takes a deep breath and admits everything that happened that day. How he couldn’t help but be instantly charmed by the woman, that the way she spoke to him and the things she told him made him feel vulnerable in a good way- something he didn’t know was possible. He tells Charles how she’d decided he wasn’t a bad man after just a few moments, about what she’d heard in Emerald Ranch, and how she most likely wouldn’t have had to offer anything for Arthur to clear the debt, but she gave him the resolve to. Arthur keeps the memory of soft lips against his cheek to himself, and tells Charles what happened the night before from arriving at the bar to Monroe’s offer at her homestead.

“I’ll agree on that one,” Charles says “I don’t think there’s any gold to be found here.”

Arthur arches his brow at the man, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve been talking to the people in Lagras, there’s a lot of people there that have family members who used to ‘ _ work _ ’ for the Greys and Braithwaites. From what they say, that kind of money dried up a long time ago.”

Arthur sighs at the sky, encouraging Magnolia to start walking again “Fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, huh?” He can’t help but ask.

Charles nods quietly, and the rest of the ride is spent in silence, the mood gone dark. There’s no gold here, Arthur doesn’t want to admit it but he has to, he doesn’t want to think about Dutch leading them down a rabbit hole and straight into a fox trap. He hopes there’s still time to convince the man that there’s nothing here for them, if he can get Hosea on his side that would assure Dutch would listen. 

Arthur nods to himself at the idea, deciding to speak with Hosea tomorrow on the matter.

For now, he shoves the thoughts away in favor of hunting with Charles and enjoying the nice weather. He’d forgotten how skittish boar could be, Charles laughing at him every time he spooks them off just by seemingly  _ breathing  _ in their direction. The man’s cursing up a storm by the time they corner the three boar in a meadow bordered by a large lake, ignoring Charles’ amusement in favor of checking his scope for the umpteenth time.

It seems like every time he lined up a shot they’d just  _ know  _ and take off like a bat out of hell, squealing so loud they scared everything else off as well. They’re pinned by the water now, however, and Arthur peers through his scope at the large animals to gauge a good shot. He can hear Charles next to him, and he hopes they fire close enough in time that the boar can’t run between shots.

The pigs are pressed against the waterline, heavily gulping much needed water after being chased for so long, it takes Arthur a moment to angle his shot just right from where they’re hidden in the edge of the thicket. He manages to align a decent headshot, his breath elated as he slowly pulls the trigger and fires.

Charles’ rifle cracks just a hair after his, and two of the boar drop while the third peels off in a fit of panic.

It’s idle silence as they work on loading up the boar, having to quickly skin them where they lie since they’re too big to load up onto the backs of their horses. Being able to provide for the gang has always brought Arthur a sense of fulfillment, it soothes the ache in his gut at the thought of little Jack or the girls not having enough to eat. 

They fill the ride back to camp with typical conversation, Charles informs Arthur of all the uses the boar had outside of just pelts, meat, and animal fat. It’s interesting information, and Arthur always considers it a win when he can make something better and cheaper than he could buy it. The two of them laugh over Sean and Karen’s latest antics, Arthur retelling some of the funnier stories from before Charles had joined them. By the time they make it back to the woods surrounding camp, Arthur feels confident in his decision to talk to Dutch about their involvement with Rhodes and tells Charles as much. The man gives him an encouraging nod, offering his information from the people he’s spoken to around the area and Arthur is grateful for Charles seemingly all over again.

Pearson is over the moon about the boar they haul in, exclaiming he can feed the camp for over a week and thankinging the men profusely while taking it off their hands. He mentions the reserves he’ll be able to restock and Arthur’s glad he and Charles were right about that in their earlier conversation. Bidding Pearson a good day, Arthur makes his way to Dutch’s tent with a heavy breath and Charles on his right as support. It feels good to have the large man next to him, his calm presence loosening the knots in Arthur’s muscles and steadies his stride.

“Dutch?” He calls once he’s outside the tent, waiting outside the closed flaps for the man’s answer.

Like always, Dutch whips the tent flaps with no lack of finesse and steps out with a swagger that Arthur would never have the confidence to. He’s all smiles and bright eyes, arms wide as he greets Charles and Arthur back from their hunt and hopes for good news. They nod their ascent before Arthur clears his throat, taking a step forward to catch the man’s full attention.

“Dutch,” He starts, not sure how to phrase his words “We were hopin’ to talk to you about them families in Rhodes you’ve got us hustlin’.” 

The older man nods with enthusiasm “Well, what do you know?” He laughs, gesturing for the two to follow him in side “So were we!” Dutch’s laughing good naturedly as Arthur and Charles duck inside.

Arthur immediately regrets his choice, seeing Micah splayed out at the table in Dutch’s tent across from Hosea as if he owned the place. The man is rolling a toothpick between his teeth, smirking at Arthur like he knows something and it makes Arthur’s stomach churn in discomfort.

“So,” Dutch announces as Micah leers at them “What did you boys want to talk about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands, who hates Micah?
> 
> *All hands rise*
> 
> Glad we could settle that.
> 
> See you soon! (Hopefully, I don’t actually have an upload schedule)


	3. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are had, plans are hashed, and doubts are cast- oh, and not to mention, the murderous occult right next door.
> 
> All in a days work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not dead, but I kind of wish I were, I created such a mess when I started chopping chapters that I don’t even know if I wrote them correctly <(TToTT;<) [Not to mention how busy my life just became this last week, toddlers are rough bro.]  
> I can’t even look at these chapters without being stressed- so just take them, and let me know how bad I did in the comments. 
> 
> Hopefully I can get a consistent weekly schedule for this fic going, hopefully.
> 
> Also, is where I really start to mess with canon and the game’s timetable, I also sprinkle in some other stuff that wasn’t in the game (that I found) to kind of push my plot along as plausibly as possible. Say that five times fast.
> 
> Hopefully the obscene amount of Charles and Arthur Being the Best Bro’s™️ will help some?
> 
> ⚠️⚠️Content warning for semi-graphic gore and allusions to severe sexual assault.⚠️⚠️

Arthur feels like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and prying it free is a feat itself as he gives a valiant effort in not glaring at Micah.

He doesn’t succeed.

Charles shifts next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder as if anchoring Arthur before he speaks in that well maintained monotonous drawl of his.

“We’ve heard rumors,” He explains “That there isn’t any gold, at least not any more.”

Arthur nods in agreement, squaring his shoulders to come off more confident as Dutch watches the two of them, the older man’s eyes darkening.

“Rumors?” Micah’s laugh is condescending “Where’s you evidence?”

“Same evidence as the rumor that there  _ is  _ gold, word of mouth.” Charles challenges, and Arthur smirks at Micah’s scowl.

Dutch seems to be contemplating, and Arthur takes it as a good thing, if Dutch realizes there’s no gold, he’ll pull out of Rhodes and they won’t be so close to trouble. He takes a step forward, eyes finding Hosea’s, the man is frowning at the back of Dutch’s head with a deep set look in his eyes.

“Lot of folks sayin’ there ain’t gold no more, Dutch,” He tries “It ain’t worth the risk of having so many of us in the middle of their mess.”

Micah looks less than pleased, pulling himself from his seat to lean into Dutch’s space “See, what’d I tell you?” He’s talking into the other man’s ear “He’s been trying to get out of this for weeks and now he’s got Smith yellow bellying too.”

Arthur feels himself go hot with anger, his teeth grinding audibly as he snaps at Micah to shut his damn trap. The man only gives him a slick grin, having already planted his seed of doubt in Dutch’s mind and the way his eyes harden makes Arthur’s gut churn.

“Now, Arthur,” He’s using that false placating tone of his, it’s never been directed at the other man before and it throws him “I understand that you have..  _ reservations _ , about what I’m trying to do here, but is it too much to ask for you to just  _ trust me for once _ ?” Dutch spits out, his voice souring more with each word, as if he hasn’t dealt Arthur a fatal blow.

Trust? Arthur’s reeling, when has he ever  _ not  _ trusted Dutch? Twenty years of loyalty, following every order, saving the man’s  _ life _ , and  _ now  _ he’s being questioned? There’s a hollow feeling in the man’s chest, eating it’s way down to his stomach, he knows it shows because Hosea takes a look at him before pitching in.

“He has a point, Dutch,” Hosea says, tone even “Gold or not, there’s too many of us mixed in with those families for them  _ not  _ to start noticing us.”

Arthur and Charles nod in agreement, and Hosea sends them a swift look of reassurance.

“Which is why,” Micah sneers, dragging out the last word “We’ve come up with a plan to go ahead and turn those two inbred families against one another, and while they’re too busy fighting each other- we snag the gold and get the hell out of here.”

He sounds pleased with himself, and Arthur wants to wring the bastard’s neck until he’s blue.

“Well, what’s the plan?” Charles asks, he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Arthur now, and the two of them make a looming presence in the tent, with their broad shoulders and height advantage. It’s a vindictive joy to see Micah have to tilt his head up to look at them from this angle, making him look more like the rat he is as he begins explaining their plan. Arthur doesn’t miss how he tries to subtly puff out his chest to seem bigger than he is, and he huffs a small laugh at the attempt.

“The plan,” Micah drawls “Is simple. We’ve already got them at each other’s throats over last night, so now all we need is one final push.”

“Which is?” Arthur grates, not having the patience for Micah’s theatrics.

“Hosea is going back to the Braithwaites,” Dutch answers instead “To convince them to burn down the Grey’s tobacco fields, in turn, forcing the Greys to retaliate. We’ll slip in and out before they’re done killing each other.” He chuckles as if it’s foolproof.

It’s not, and Arthur can’t help but think of Beau and Penelope, those two kids he’d played carrier pigeon for when he’d first arrived in Rhodes. Innocent folk getting caught in their mess always made Arthur uneasy. He glances at Charles who looks just a pensive, his jaw set to keep from speaking out of turn. 

“And when the Greys do?” Arthur can’t help himself “You reckon Cathrine Braithwaite’s not gonna rat us out to save her own hide? Then what, Dutch?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.” Dutch reiterates, tone final, Micah next to him looking like they’ve already struck gold. Arthur rolls the agitation out of his shoulders before sighing hard through his nose “I’ve always trusted you, Dutch, I’m just worried about the rest of the gang gettin’ caught up in all this mess.”

“It won’t come to that!” The older man snaps “We’ve already got it all figured out, why aren’t you  _ listening _ ? They won’t be able to get to us.”

“Seems like you’re mighty scared, Cowpoke.” Micah smirks “You sure it’s the gang you're worried about, or your own skin?”

Charles has to grab Arthur to keep the man from lunging at Micah “That’s enough, Arthur,” He murmurs low enough the others can’t hear “We’ve said all we can for now.”

Arthur nods, and allows himself to follow Charles from the tent without another word. 

They walk to the edge of camp, Arthur kicking rocks and cursing under his breath until they stop at the tree line “Fine load that did us.” He grouches, yanking off his hat to fan the thick Lemoyne heat from his skin. Irritation makes his skin prickle, his shirt feels like it’s two sizes too small and that the wrong move will have him splitting at the seams. Charles is an anchor next to him, steady and calm in the midst of Arthur’s anger, he waits out Arthur’s fuming before speaking.

“The only thing we can do is either prove to Dutch there’s no gold, or..” He trails off, looking at Arthur with heavy meaning- and the man knows why, the only other option would be considered undermining Dutch’s protection over the gang.

“Or?” Arthur allows

“We find a way to keep the rest of the gang out of it, even if it’s just the women and Jack.” Charles sounds solid, assured in a way that didn’t need boisterous convincing. It made Arthur feel confident in trusting the man, and he nods in agreement, lips twitching into a minute smile as he watches the other man’s shoulders subtly drop in relief. He appreciates how Charles respects Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch, even if at the moment it feels wrong to still want to cling to that feeling, even when suggesting they go against the man’s authority. Arthur feels dramatic using such a description, he doubts Dutch could truly fault them for doing what was best for the gang, but Dutch has always tried to come off bigger than life, presenting himself as a modern day symbol of freedom. It was a fine line with the man, one Arthur used to be able to walk backwards and blindfolded.

He wonders when that began to change.

When Pearson calls for dinner, the two part ways with the decision to meet back up in the morning to discuss their next plan of action and hopefully they can figure out something before Hosea makes his way to the Braithwaites. Dutch never specified when that would be, and Arthur wonders if he could catch a few words with Hosea away from prying ears to get more information on his visit.

He makes his way over to Hosea’s usual spot, the older man sitting at the rectangle table mainly reserved for playing games when there’s a lull in the day’s activities. He’s already eating a bowl of stew, absently chewing as he reads over a map before Arthur garners his attention by clearing his throat.

“Mind if I sit?” He asks with as little awkwardness as he can muster.

“Of course not, my boy, make yourself at home.” Hosea smiles, but there’s an understanding in his gaze that makes Arthur feel more at ease as he slides into the chair across from him.

He accepts the offered bottle of whiskey, taking a leisurely drag before peering over the map Hosea’s got “What’re you lookin’ for?” He questions, noticing the map isn’t of anywhere near where they’re at. 

Hosea shrugs before scooting the map aside “Just scouting some potential spots out west, always good to be prepared.”

Arthur nods, relaxing into the seat like always.

Hosea sits up straighter, leaning in some so they wouldn’t have to raise their voices, Arthur looks over the man’s shoulders to check the campfire. Micah’s sitting with his back to them, blathering about God knows what to a half drunk Bill, while Dutch is nowhere to be seen. The man probably took his food back to his tent, but Arthur doesn’t look that way in case Dutch catches him watching. 

It’s not out of character for Arthur and Hosea to sit together in the evenings, but the man is feeling an edge of paranoia he can’t quite shake. As if Micah is going to turn and shout, calling them out on their conversation and bringing the men to Dutch’s attention.

He takes another large gulp of whiskey.

“So, when you headin’ that way?” He asks casually, placing the bottle, then his hat, on the tabletop. 

Hosea thrums his fingers against the wood, his other hand stirring his spoon through his stew.

“In a few days time, at least.” He tells the man “Going too early would look suspicious, despite Micah’s incessant badgering to get it all over with. Dutch isn’t that brash.” There’s an unspoken  _ “yet”  _ that they both readily ignore. 

Arthur nods, licking moisture from his top lip while he thinks, that’ll be plenty of time for him and Charles to ask around about that gold. Also plenty of time to find a way to keep the gang safe should this job go south, which is a good possibility seeing how both families are well acquainted with not only Arthur’s face, but almost half the other men in the gang as well. The last thing they needed was for any of them to find out who  _ really  _ started most the trouble around town lately.

He watches Hosea take another bite of stew, taking in the deep set of his aged face and, chapped, weathered skin, his hairs completely gray while Dutch’s is still black as ink. Arthur feels like that alone says enough about the men’s dynamic, even if Hosea is older, he shouldn’t look as worn as he does. It pangs in Arthur’s chest, he didn’t want to see Hosea live like this until they died, he had always imagined them making it out west to their promised land long before now. Yet, here they sit, huddled in another camp, hiding from more and more Pinkertons and lawmen and bounty hunters every day it seems.

If Arthur’s tired, he can’t imagine how Hosea must feel. 

He makes a decision right then, if nothing else, Arthur is going to make sure Hosea lives through this mess to see the other side.

“Just let Charles and me know beforehand, so we can be ready.” He tells his father figure, clearing his throat of the clogged emotions he felt.

“Ready for what?” Hosea asks, as if he doesn’t know

“Anything.” Arthur tells him, then leaves the table with his hat in his hand and leaves the half empty whiskey behind.

“Arthur!” Hosea calls, and the man pauses to look back at the other “What’s gotten into you lately?” He doesn’t ask it like it’s a bad thing, which lightens Arthur’s heart.

“I’ve realized I need to be loyal to what really matters, Hosea.” He muses, giving a light shrug before turning back on his heel and wandering off.

He ambles about camp for a little while, talking to a few of the folks who liked to linger away from the campfire like Sadie and Karen. The two women are equally interesting to talk to, even if it’s in completely different ways, and Arthur always enjoys their talks. There’s a few minutes where he humors Sean and allows the man to ramble drunkenly about his youthful vigor and greatness before he allows himself one good jab just to watch the kid flail in defense. It’s not too long after that Arthur decides to call it quits for the night and walks to his cot, pulling his belt and holsters off before sitting down with a heavy sigh to chuck his boots off. Lastly, he rids himself of his bandolier and shirt and lies down across the cot and stares at the roof of his tent. He replays their conversation in Dutch’s tent, rubbing against his sternum as if he can snub out the ache in his chest as he listens to Dutch in his head, the pain of being regarded in such a way goes deep through his heart and soul, settling heavily in his bones. 

Arthur doesn’t sleep well, tossing and turning until he jerks awake from visions of lost fathers and invading Pinkertons, his nightmares stained with the blood of his loved ones. He gives up trying to sleep a couple hours before dawn, throwing himself from the cot with sore and heavy limbs that protest his rough movements, he’s shoving his feet into his boots when he hears someone approach his tent. It’s Kieran, looking timid as usual and holding an unlit lantern, Arthur remembers Six Point cabin and the boy saving his life. He wonders what he’s doing still up, and is surprised to find he isn’t suspicious of the formal O'Driscoll while he asks Kieran what he’s doing. 

“T-there, um, there’s some fella’s close by I don’t recognize,” He’s trying hard not to stumble over his words “They woke me talking in the clearing, b-but I didn’t think it safe goin’ alone.”

Arthur nods, silently praising the man for thinking ahead, and pulls on a shirt and his guns before having Kieran lead the way back towards the men. If he’s lucky, they’re fools that’ll be easy to scare off, if he’s not- well, Arthur isn’t going to dwell on that part. 

They’re at the edge of the woods by the horses, and the clearing is only a few hundred yards out, Arthur shakes his head when Kieran gestures to the lantern so it’s left on a rock while they creep into the woods. Sure enough, voices can be heard from the clearing, rancorous laughter and hollering fill the night air along with the gleam of a campfire flickering. It sounds like a party, and Arthur figures most the rest of camp is too drunk to be woken up by the noise- save whomever Arthur figures is on guard duty on the other side of camp, far away enough not to be alerted. There’s noise underneath though, Arthur realizes as he listens, it’s muffled and doesn’t sound good. The man draws his LeMat before nodding once at Kieran, the two separate and come around the group from both sides as they close in. Arthur stops just before he breaks the tree line, peering past his oak cover at the gathering, what he sees makes his stomach roll.

Arthur counts thirteen men laughing around the fire, drunk dancing and brawling with one another, them and their campsite are covered in blood. There’s an altar built from stones, holding a severed head oozing blood and missing both eyes, it’s got symbols carved across the forehead and plants stuffed in the eye sockets. There're several corpses littered about, most of them maimed and gutted, the one missing its head is strung up by the feet from a nearby tree.

How the  _ hell  _ did they miss this?

Arthur looks and sees an older woman huddled against a mangled tent, his blouse is torn and she’s holding a child against her, they’re both crying. Next to them is another woman, she’s laying down and facing away, but the blood soaked blanket covering her bare body tells Arthur enough. He swallows bile as he readjusts his grip on his gun. 

One of the men stops and looks at the two crying, he shouts at them to shut up but it’s obvious they can’t, Arthur breaks through the tree line when the man stomps towards the woman.

There’s no word or warning as he shoots the man, rage bubbling in his gut as he empties his chamber into his chest, the others exclaim loudly behind him and the firefight begins. Arthur doesn’t hesitate, deft fingers reloading quicker than the other men can aim, shooting down four more before he’s forced to take cover. He spots Kieran sneaking through the tents, he’s gathering the woman and child while everyone is distracted. 

Arthur keeps firing, keeping the men focused on him as Kieran clears out, taking out another two before reloading. He’s got six men left and no idea if the gang has been awoken by the noise, he knows that Uncle and Bill could sleep through a damn war when drunk. 

Hopefully Kieran will be back with help.

The remaining men are closing in, forcing Arthur to change cover and he ends up nicked by a stray bullet. It stings more than anything, the graze is on his forearm, and the blood drips thick and copper scented. He manages to skid behind some ration boxes, cursing loudly as the men threaten him in various ways, bullets chipping away at the crates. Arthur rears up and fires, popping off two more shots before being forced back down, he doesn’t know if he killed the first but he saw the second lose a quarter of his skull. 

He’s running out of cover options, the campsite is sparse at best and the tree line is too far away to safely make it with all the bullets flying. 

He’s got maybe ninety seconds before he’s in trouble.

Gritting his teeth, he leans over to the side and fires until his chamber clicks empty, dropping another man by blowing out his knee caps. He’s turning back behind his cover when he’s tackled from his blind spot, knocked back into the dirt by a large man holding a larger knife. 

_ Shit. _

Arthur can’t reach his own knife due to how he’s pinned, and his gun was locked from reach when he fell, his only option is to defend himself with his bare hands. He catches the man’s wrists when he swings down, the knife stopping six inches from his chest as the two strain against one another, the man atop Arthur is big but he lacks coordination. His eyes are glassy and he’s swaying from intoxication, a clear advantage for Arthur who manages to pivot his hips enough to knock the man off balance. While the man scrambled to keep upright, Arthur is able to bat the knife away and lands a solid punch to the man’s ribs that crack loudly under his knuckles. It isn’t enough to jostle him off, and he can hear the others closing in, so Arthur punches again and again until the man begins to keel over. 

There’s a sudden barrage of bullets from the far end of the clearing, horses stomping into the clearing as new men shout and shoot. The man above Arthur is shot in the head, the blast knocking the man off him and splattering Arthur with blood and brain matter. He’s quick to his feet, taking in the scene, it’s not the gang he realizes as he looks at the five men on horseback, the men are well dressed and save for a few calls they’re completely quiet as they gun down the rest of the men. It’s underwhelming to say the least, and Arthur has the feeling these men have been after this particular group prior to this evening. He gets to his feet with a low groan, picking up his dropped gun and stretching the ache from his back, he’s wiping his gun down when one of the men approaches him.

“You good, friend?”

Arthur looks over at the man, and the campfire let’s Arthur make out dark auburn hair and green eyes, the man’s not as tall as Arthur but his shoulders are just as broad. There’s a gleam from the metal star on his jacket lapel, but he’s friendly enough, Arthur muses, so he nods and holds a hand out in thanks that’s taken in a firm grasp that Arthur can respect.

“Thanks to you, Arthur Callahan.” He greets before letting go

The man gives a grin, just enough to show perfectly straight and white teeth “Elliot Bishop, you did quite well yourself.”

Arthur files the name and face away for later on before chuckling “They ‘bout had me if it weren’t for you fellers, which,” He looks back at the other men collecting the bodies “Who  _ are  _ those people?”

Elliot gives the dead man that had tackled Arthur a hard glare “Some god awful occult that’s been causing trouble all across the country,” He spits on the corpse “Call themselves  _ ‘The Brotherhood’  _ of all things, ain’t nothing but a bunch of murdering animals.”

Arthur agrees, and even helps with disposing of the bodies, the other riders with Elliot don’t say much of anything while they work. Though, seeing the carnage around them does tend to damper a mood. He thinks of the woman and child Kieran helped escape, and whether or not they were brought back to camp or taken into Rhodes. 

“Where you boys from, anyways?” Arthur asks as the sun begins to lighten the sky with the first glimpse of dawn, Elliot wipes sweat from his brow before answering.

“I'm from Vermont myself,” He explains then points to the other men “Clyde and Daniel are from Montana, Jeremiah comes from Washington, and Henry- we don’t have a clue.”

The lithe blond man referred to as Henry shrugs silently then goes back to burning the tents with the others.

“He doesn’t talk, excellent marksman though.” Elliot explains

Arthur nods, rubbing his chin in thought “Then, if you don’t mind my asking, how’d y’all find each other?” 

He knows he’s prying, but Arthur couldn’t help but ask, these men had badges like lawmen but they didn’t  _ feel  _ like lawmen. Most lawmen were arrogant and tended to look down on folk like Arthur, even if they didn’t pin him as an outlaw. These men were quiet and effective and didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about Arthur beyond his shooting and helping hand. Either way, it’d be good to start tabs on them and report back to Dutch on what happened.

Speaking of Dutch:  _ where  _ was the man? Surely they’d heard all the commotion, it’s not that far from camp, and the thought of those men having tried to move in on the gang makes Arthur’s stomach clench.

“We were brought to Washington for work,” Elliot pulls Arthur from his musings “All of us were lawmen back home, but the government decided we were better suited working directly for them.” 

Arthur frowns, wouldn’t that make these men Pinkertons? He asks as much, his obvious confusion makes Elliot laugh good naturedly.

“Not quite, The Pinkerton Agency is more like a government corporation. Us six make up our own merry band of men.”

“ _ Stop calling us that. _ ” A gruff voice complains behind Elliot, and Arthur’s pretty sure the man is who Elliot pointed out to be Daniel. He’s unassuming in appearance, if not a bit scruffy, but the exasperation in his tone makes Arthur think he’s more fun than he looks. Daniel walks up next to Elliot, making sure to elbow the man as he stops before offering a hand to Arthur to shake.

“Daniel Flint, Arthur right?”

Arthur nods, shaking the man’s hand.

“In simpler terms, we hunt the worst of the worst, it’s one thing to chase outlaws across the country- most are just thieves and petty criminals-” Arthur resists the urge to break the man’s hand “It’s another to bring down monsters such as these.”

Arthur nods despite the unintentional jab to his person, releasing Daniel’s hand and shoving his own in the pockets of his jeans, it’s nice to know these men aren’t after men like him but it doesn’t mean they won’t turn him in to the people who are. He thinks back to the Pinkertons at the river back in New Hanover, their cruel disposition and harsh words, comparing them to the men before them. The man feels like he’d fare better against Ross and Milton.

“How’d you end up here anyways?” Elliot cuts back in, Arthur’s gaze snapping back to the man as he comes up with a quick cover

“My horse got spooked,” He lies “Threw me off and bolted. I was looking for her when I heard a bunch of commotion this way.”

Elliot nods, thumbs resting in his belt loops as he looks around the clearing, luckily, camp is too far past the woods around them to be seen. Being heard, however, Arthur doesn’t know, and while the sun is just barely starting to lighten the sky, he figures it’s a good idea to have these gentlemen on their way sooner than later.

He goes to bid the men a good day, preparing his excuse to continue looking for his horse when Elliot offers to help.

“Figure it’s the least I can do, you  _ did  _ do most of the work here after all.” He reasons, and Arthur silently curses the man for being so polite. 

“Suppose I could use a hand,” He muses “She’s probably come back close, never stays gone too long.” 

He figures he can get a little ways off then whistle for Magnolia, her range of hearing is impressive, she’ll come running from the woods around camp and no one will be any the wiser. Daniel is sent back with the others, clean up is done so they’re headed back to their wagons, Elliot explaining they’re usually on the move too much to set up an actual camp as he mounts his horse. Arthur feels as if he’s beginning to become acquainted with the feeling, but doesn’t do anything more than nod as they walk from the clearing. He leads the man the long way out, saying he’s not too familiar with the area and just arrived the other day, he’s looking for a place to settle and build that’s far enough away from trouble. They joke about Rhodes being nothing but trouble, and Arthur can’t help but prod the man for any information he might have on the town and its inhabitants.

“This town is as backwards as it comes, treating colored folk and women the way they do, disgusting.” Elliot seems to take this personally, the way his fingers tighten around his reigns “People aren’t property, Mr. Callahan, no man is above another.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Arthur gruffs, remembering the other night at the saloon and men that had threatened Monroe.

They make it to the road soon after, and while they walk the dirt path Arthur begins to whistle for Magnolia. He’s beginning to feel the aches in his back and shoulders from being bowled over, his lack of sleep not helping either, and rolls his shoulders to ease the tension between them. The telltale sound of Magnolia’s whinny cuts through the woods, her hooves thudding louder as she gets closer, Arthur gives one more whistle before she’s barreling through the tree line. She’s on him immediately, butting his chest gently with her head and lipping at his satchel for treats, snorting and tail swishing as she demands his attention. 

Arthur laughs, cooing as he feeds her a couple oatcakes and pets her velvet nose “That’s my girl.” He rumbles as she knickers at him.

“That is quite the horse.” Elliot breathes in awe, Arthur grins at him with a shrug before explaining how he’d found her in the mountains hunting a while back. The man is thoroughly impressed, and they part ways on that note, Elliot waving them off as he turns and trots off in the opposite direction. Arthur waits a moment before hopping in Magnolia’s saddle, making sure the other man is a good enough distance away before heading back to camp. 

The more he thinks of the man, the more familiar he seems despite having never met him before, Arthur concludes it’s probably just a “he’s got one of those faces” situations and leaves it at that. It’s a short ride back to camp, and the sky is now a ruddy gold that filters through the trees and makes Arthur think of amber and tree sap. Coming back into camp, Arthur only sees a few people milling about this early, he looks for Kieran but doesn’t see the boy anywhere. Worry clenches his gut as he dismounts Magnolia at the grazing spot and walks into the thick of the campsite, he sees Hosea and Miss Grimshaw talking over coffee at one of the tables. Charles is also up with Pearson taking stock of goods on the food wagon, he heads over in that direction keeping an eye out for Kieran as he does. 

“Mornin’ fellas.” He greets as normally as he can manage, Pearson simply grunts at him but Charles is looking at Arthur with sharp eyes.

“Long night?” The man guesses, making Arthur shift uncomfortably “Wouldn’t have anything to do with all that shooting a while ago, would it?”

“Wait,” Arthur starts with a sudden rush of irritation “You  _ heard  _ that mess and didn’t think to  _ check _ ?” He’s seething, unable to help himself.

“Dutch said to leave it,” Pearson pipes in “Just a bunch of drunk fools like us last night.”

Arthur balks, staring at Charles in disbelief who looks less than pleased himself.

“Didn’t want us attracting trouble.” Charles says, but doesn’t agree with the sentiment.

Arthur grabs Charles and pulls him in close to whisper harshly as they walk off, ignoring Pearson’s indignant shout “ _They_ were _trouble,_ _the law was after them and the only reason I made it out_ alive _was because they showed up._ ” 

Charles has Arthur explain everything to him.

They’ve migrated to the coffee percolator, both men fuming over their steaming mugs as they discussed last night’s events. Charles says that Kieran was back in camp by the time he’d woken up, causing Arthur to breathe a sigh of relief. He’d find the young man later and thank him for helping those folk, it’s funny, he finds himself thinking, he’d never imagined himself thanking a formal O’Driscoll. He moves on to tell Charles that they’ve got a few days before Hosea is due at the Braithwaite Manor, ignoring the niggling in his head about Dutch’s orders to ignore the commotion last night. Moments later, Dutch makes his way to the percolator, greeting them with a simple “Gentlemen.” As he pours his coffee, Arthur and Charles greet him in the same fashion before Charles abandons his empty mug and walks off with a look to Arthur letting him know they’d meet up another time. He nods back minutely, hiding the gesture behind a swig of coffee, a sigh from Dutch draws his attention to the man.

“Arthur..” He drawls, tired and worn as he rubs his face “About yesterday-”

Arthur holds up a hand “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Dutch.” He tells the man “You’ve got a lot on your plate, I didn’t mean to add into it.”

The man looks relieved and only part of Arthur is glad for it, the other part is shoved away to be examined never. They idly chat for a few minutes, and Arthur decides not to bring last night up to the man seeing his jovial mood. He knows that what he and Charles have discussed could end horribly, that they’re on thin ice with this idea, but remembering Hosea’s tired and haggard face and those men  _ this close  _ to camp solidifies his resolve. There’s no way he  _ can’t  _ do this, even if it means going behind the man he’d thought of as his father for the better part of twenty years. There are too many people he cares about to allow things to continue the way they are, if Dutch wants Micah, of all people, by his side- so be it. That doesn’t mean he’ll let that rat bastard get anyone in his family hurt by being a brash fool. 

When they part a little while later, Arthur makes his way back to Magnolia and checks her over before giving her some grain. He’s wondering where he’ll start when he remembers an offer on a homestead a little ways away, followed by a wily smirk and bright eyes.

“You’ve always been a fool, looks like today’s no different.” He laughs at himself as he saddles up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruh, I’m not gonna lie, the original concept for this fic was a poly-romcom between Monroe and Arthur and Charles.
> 
> There’s still like an 8% chance of it still happening because Charles is the best boy. 
> 
> I’m going to bed now, bye.


	4. Homemade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visit is exactly that- a visit full of surprises, some good, some.. Not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Violently throws chapter* HERE!
> 
> Have some domestic Monroe and Arthur!
> 
> No, I did not stay up obscenely late editing this chapter, and, no, I am not posting this at work while inhaling coffee like an animal.
> 
> I can’t not leave finished things alone, I have zero self control, good for y’all though ;)
> 
> And, as always, no beta- all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Ha haaaaa... I’m such a sap.

“Big Valley.” Arthur murmurs to himself while leaving camp, making sure to tell Charles where he is off to but isn’t sure when he’ll be back. If the man is surprised, he doesn’t let Arthur know.

The ride will take awhile, he probably won’t find her until the sun got low, but he doesn’t mind, the sun is only just now fully breaking the tree line, and he decides to use the time to think on what exactly he is doing or if he should bring something along with him to offer. He’ll probably snag a deer or some other game to take, something she could use and not need to go into town for, seeing how building anything was expensive- Arthur figures any help would be welcomed. Magnolia seems to enjoy the leisurely day ride, basking in the sunshine, and it is nice to get out of the thick heat of Lemoyne. Part of Arthur wonders if Monroe would be willing to share some of whatever knowledge she has of the rumored gold in Rhodes, if he could get some of the pokers out that Dutch had in the fire then maybe they could get their footing back. He can’t imagine any good coming from being so obviously involved with both families, even though Dutch swore up and down they were fools, Arthur  _ knew  _ you didn’t keep a town under your thumb the way they did being foolish. You didn’t run illegal operations with notorious gangs without the law or the government catching wind without having some kind of sense, either. Their arguement from the day before still ringing in Arthur’s ears.

Sighing at the foolishness of it all, Arthur takes note of where he is, he prefers to ride the small roads that didn’t go through towns if he could. He is coming up towards Strawberry, how he’d lost track of so much time is beyond him, and decides to let Magnolia rest while he goes in search of some game. There is a decent patch of forest where he hitched her, grabbing his rifle and his bow before setting off.

There are plenty of tracks, both old and new, snagging a rabbit and a turkey with little difficulty before catching some decently fresh deer tracks. He feels a surge of pleasant warmth at the thought of bringing such decent game to Monroe, similar to when he surprised Pearson with all the game he’d bring in at once but  _ more _ .

Arthur tracks the herd for about fifteen minutes before finding a small cluster of a few does and a buck grazing in an open patch, the does look worse for wear and Arthur doesn’t see the value in killing something he can’t completely utilize. However, the buck is large, thickly built with impressive antlers, and Arthur imagines he is more than enough for his purposes. He has to be careful, however, the buck already pulling its head up to look around, it’s ears flicking as he paws the ground with a warning snort.

Quietly as possible, Arthur withdraws his rifle, bucks are harder to kill with arrows due to how much thicker they are than does, and takes aim. He’s taken a liking to headshots, a clean and instant kill that causes minimal pain and damage to the animal, he isn’t interested in mounting any game, just the pelts, and the price goes up if there are no holes in it. He stays low to the ground, peering through his scope as he aligns his preferred shot, moving as slow and steady as possible. The buck shudders, it’s thick golden coat shaking as it surveys the area, Arthur waits until it turns its head to make the shot.

The crack of the gun startles off the does and other animals around Arthur, but all he cares about is the sudden drop of the buck. He swiftly puts up his gun and hurries to the animal, laying dead on the ground, Arthur is grateful the shot is clean and hadn’t resulted in him finishing the buck with his knife. There was always a mess and Arthur isn’t keen on showing up half covered in blood.

He is careful lifting the buck over his shoulder, grunting some at the weight of the hundred and fifty pound animal, before making the trek back to Magnolia at a slower pace. By the time he gets back to his mount, Arthur is actually winded, he takes a moment after loading the buck onto her hindquarters to catch his breath and drink some water and offer some to Magnolia. He’ll have to wash his canteen after she lipped all over it.

The rest of the ride is just as peaceful, a few people stopping him to admire Magnolia like always, and some folk commented on his impressive buck. Arthur takes it all in stride, shrugging off their compliments unless they were about Magnolia before riding off towards Black Bone Forest. There were wildcats and bears up that way, so Arthur keeps a close hold on his rifle despite the wary glances he received from passing folk.

He receives far less, however, when he shot a cougar trying to make a poor man its lunch.

Arthur is leaving out of the forest when he decides to ask the next person he passea where the ranch was, not wanting to somehow get turned around and end up at the O’Driscoll hideout not far from there.

He’ll have to do something about that.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long to run into an older gentleman and Arthur is quick to flag him down.

“Excuse me, mister?” He calls, catching the man’s attention “I was hoping you could tell me where I might find my friend’s homestead, she’s expecting me.”

The man scratches his chin in thought “I don’t know no ‘stead in particular,” He hums “But I do know there’s a lot of building been going on just up the way a little. Take a left at the fork and you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you kindly.” Arthur muses with a tip of his hat before trotting past the man.

“Careful though!” The man suddenly calls “There’s been a lot of trouble from some gang close by, they took over the Hanging Dog Ranch not too far from here!“

Arthur hesitates, tightening his grip on Magnolia’s reins as he thinks back to when they’d found Sadie and the horrors the O’Driscolls had brought her and her late husband. The Brotherhood and their carnage fresh in his mind, the dead woman warping to take Monroe’s lifeless face with hollow green eyes unseeing as they stare into his-

He stirs his mount on a little faster, dark thoughts clogging his mind as he rides seemingly on autopilot, not realizing how hard he was running Magnolia until she skids to a stop to avoid running over a stray raccoon. Her heavy breathing and irritated snorts make Arthur sigh heavily in guilt, he slides off her and walks her off the road to brush her down and offer her plenty of water and feed. 

He apologizes softly to her, praising her as he strokes her neck and shoulder, Arthur decides to give her a well deserved break and grabs her reins so the two can walk together for a while. They find the fork in the road not too long after, and Arthur notices the light blue sky is beginning to take a dark tint. The outlaw gets back in the saddle, coaxing Magnolia into a gentle trot this time as he scans the area for any sign of the ranch and tries to push unpleasant thoughts from his head. The area around Arthur is lush with life, thick trees standing tall and strong as home for birds and woodland creatures alike, the grass grows unhindered, speckled with tall lilac flowers and the occasional hummingbird sage. It’s beautiful, and Arthur can see the appeal of wanting to stay here, similar to how Clemens Point was Arthur’s ideal camp location. He loves being so close to the wild, surrounded by the over abundant life the earth created seemingly effortlessly. The man could spend hours sketching the rich foliage around him and still not be satisfied.

He eventually comes to a clearing, an open and spacious field thick with green grass and wildflowers, in it nestled a decent sized home with a large barn that was guarded by a newly built fence. Arthur can make out a set of half built stables and places where more fence is to be put up, and the house is getting a wrap around porch as well from the looks of it. He can see gardening equipment along the east side of the house, propped up against the wall next to a large patch of tilled earth that is most likely going to become a garden. Arthur can’t deny the beauty of it, a lovely home sprawled out across a beautiful countryside, ripe with possibility, was something he had always dreamed of having. The thought of Monroe having this makes something deep and forgotten warm inside Arthur, imagining her thriving in these fields and living the simple life Arthur had always been promised makes him feel lighter instead of envious.

His musings are interrupted, however, when he approaches the threshold of the property.

A deep and menacing sound alerts him to the left, setting his gaze on what he’s pretty sure is a wolf stalking towards him. Arthur’s not sure, though, because he’s certain wolves don’t come with floppy ears and sleek sandy coats. It’s also too square in the head and muzzle, he belatedly notes a thick black collar as he stops reaching for his revolver, which means this beast is actually a  _ dog _ .

What is with this woman and having such large animals?

He slowly puts his hands away from his body, gently shushing Magnolia as she whinnies and stomps in place, and the dog takes a few steps closer. It’s lips are curled over sharp teeth in an honestly terrifying snarl, hackles bristling dramatically while claws dig into the earth to solidify its stance. He’s so preoccupied with the animal in front of him, he nearly falls out of his saddle when a gravelly howl comes from his blind spot.

Arthur can hear heavy paws thudding behind him, and thanks the Lord that Magnolia hasn’t bucked him off.

“Easy now…” He murmurs, trying to sound as harmless as possible as he ignores the sweat sliding down his neck. Arthur has never felt the need to be afraid of an animal, save for bears and wildcats, most were easily spooked or he’d simply shoot to defend himself and his horse. This isn’t that situation, unfortunately, he can’t shoot Monroe’s dogs for protecting their home from a stranger, and they obviously aren’t afraid of him.

The growling and snarling suddenly stops, the dog before him snapping it’s gaze back to the house and Arthur assumes the one behind him has done the same. Arthur takes a chance to look as well, wondering what would stop them from seemingly nowhere.

Standing in the open front door of the home is Monroe, with her arms crossed, and looking like she’s just finished bathing. Her hair is dark with water and braided across her crown, and she’s wearing a simple cotton shirt and loose pants. She looks so  _ domestic  _ it throws Arthur, having never thought of her in such a context, and he’s not sure what to say to her.

“Bear! King!” She calls, and the two dogs dart to the woman in a scramble of excited yips and flopping tongues. She spares no affection, cooing and petting the large animals until they’re belly up and useless before looking back up at Arthur with a bright smile that makes something in the man curl with pleasure.

He dismounts Magnolia before leading her up to the house when Monroe waved him up, he expects the dogs to at least growl at him as he approaches but neither move from beneath the woman’s hands. The woman looks pleased to see him, her cheeks flushed with a dewy warmth and eyes bright, Arthur can’t help but soak in her appearance. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen someone so content, and it warms the man to have that soft expression aimed at him. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you so soon, Mr. Morgan.” She muses cheekily, looking far too pleased with herself, even with her softened demeanor. Arthur shrugs and tilts his hat to hide the warmth of his ears and face.

“Figured I could use a break from ‘ _ chasing fool's gold _ ’.” 

He turns and gestures to the game tied to Magnolia “I also thought I’d bring you some, you know, food and such. S’a lot of work building a ranch, takes time and money so I figured..” He trails off, feeling stupid in the moment, like he could’ve done better or been more practical, but Monroe beams and all but skips off the porch to get a better look.

“All this is for me?” She’s practically bouncing, dogs picking up on her enthusiasm as they prance at her heels, it throws Arthur how excited she is and he nods a little dumbly. There’s something else, he thinks, in the way her eyes shine  _ too _ much to just be excitement and how she’s almost reverent in touching the feathers on the turkey he’d shot. It takes a moment for Arthur to realize why it’s bothering him, and it pulls something in his chest.

He knew Monroe was a generous woman when he met her at the Downes’ Farm, figured she’d always been the first person to lend a hand or give to those in need, it hadn’t crossed his mind that the same generosity hadn’t been given to her. Most likely not until the Downes took her in, no one but them had ever given to the woman, and Arthur doubts she’s ever expected anything from anyone.

He wants to tell her she deserves so much more, that he’d lay the world down at her feet if he could, but he knows she wouldn’t want it. She’s a simple girl, everything she could ever want she’s building for herself now, and Arthur decides he’ll do whatever he can for her. It’s a strong and sudden urge he can’t explain, and part of him wants to argue that they haven’t known the woman long enough for such thoughts but he feels like the argument would be feeble at best. 

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he has an armful of the woman, arms tight around him and face buried against his chest, she’s talking into his shirt and it’s too muffled for him to understand. He wants to return her embrace, pull her in tight against him and commit this moment to memory, but he doesn’t, instead he gently pats between her shoulder blades and mumbles a gruff lie of “It’s not that great.” 

She tilts her head up to look at him, her chin still resting against his chest and he valiantly ignores how soft she is against him. He can see where her lashes are wet, but she’s smiling like she’s won the world.

“Thank you, Arthur.” She breathes, it’s warm and tickles against his jaw and makes him want to pull in closer and hear her say his name for hours. 

_ Pull yourself together, Morgan. _

She lets go too soon after that, and Arthur gets to work unloading the game so Monroe can show him where it goes, the two dogs following close behind. Monroe introduces them as Bear, the sandy beast from earlier, and King, an even bigger canine with a deep brown double coat who’s missing part of an ear. Despite their terrifying first encounter, Arthur finds the dogs’ are impeccably trained and intelligent, he thinks they’re impressive animals, and is glad he’s no longer on their bad side. 

He’s led to a small building behind the house, it only has three walls and the front is completely open to showcase the wall length shelves crammed with jars of preserved goods along with tonic bottles and salve jars. Arthur takes in the variety of dried herbs and fresh produce as he sets the buck carcass on a large table next to the rabbit and turkey Monroe had carried despite her recent bath and clean clothing. 

“You like to keep busy?” He half jokes, impressed and slightly intimidated by the sheer volume the woman has amassed. Monroe covers her blush by coughing into her fist while King is licking animal blood from her other hand, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“I sell to a couple towns,” She shrugs “Mainly family business owners, folks who aren’t keen on factory goods, that sort of thing.” Arthur watches her turn and she plucks a random salve from the shelf behind her, she turns it over in her hands before handing it to him.

“Here. You rub it on open wounds, it numbs it then kills the bacteria.” She explains while Arthur unscrews the lid to examine the muted plum colored cream. He takes a curious sniff and immediately regrets it, jerking away from the stout scent, his nostrils burning and eyes water as he chokes a little while closing the jar. It’s sudden and dramatic the way he holds it at a distance as he screws the lid back on, Monroe laughing at him from across the table all the while. He thanks her as he tucks it away in his satchel, then turns his attention back to the game on the table.

“So, how do you want to do this?” He asks as he unsheathes his hunting knife, grazing the edge with his thumb to check its sharpness. 

Monroe seems to ponder the animals on the table for a moment, poking at the rabbit before looking back over her shelves making sure to push the carcass from the edge of the table where King is sniffing at it. 

“I can cook the bird tonight for dinner, and I’m sure the feathers will be useful.” She’s started pulling large containers from a shelf, checking the contents before frowning at the buck “Probably make jerky from the rabbit and some of the deer, pickle and salt the rest even if it’s not quite the time of year.” Monroe inspects the rack of the animal, running her fingers over the antlers. The animal is in great condition, Arthur is proud of that, so he sets to work plucking the turkey while she figures out what all she wants from what he’s brought her. 

King and Bear seem to have a grand time chasing the downy feathers of the turkey that escape, and Monroe assures Arthur she’s really only interested in the flight and tail feathers. The rest, she tells him, she usually makes spare pillows or dog mats out of but she has no need for them now.

Arthur watches Monroe examine herbs and spices, some dried or ground, others fresh, making decisions as she putters about in her blood stained shirt and sock clad feet. He plucks the bird quick and efficiently, putting aside the important feathers before cutting into the bird’s neck to bleed it over a bucket Monroe had brought him. It had bleed a good deal on the ride over, bleeding it the rest of the way was quick and Arthur had the entire bird carved and sectioned within half an hour. Monroe feeds the dogs the heart and liver, and splits the entrails between them as well, before taking the rest of the meat, herbs, and spices inside to prepare dinner. Arthur stays behind to hang the buck and rabbit from hooks, cutting into them to bleed as well so they’d be ready to skin after dinner, he’d have a long night of preparing the animals for Monroe to preserve but he was looking forward to it. He makes sure the buckets under the animals are a good size, not wanting any overflow, before cleaning up the mess he’d made with the turkey. Blood is mopped up, feathers gathered in a garbage bin to be burned later along with the bones, he scrubs the table clean as well making sure to clean the underside of the lip where blood usually clots up and rots the wood. He makes a trip back to Magnolia, noticing she’s been put in the closest stable next to Galahad with fresh water and grain, and makes a note to thank Monroe for her kindness as he grabs a few extra things he’ll need for skinning the buck. 

The air is cool and dry this way, mostly due to the large river that runs not too far from here, meaning the carcasses wouldn’t start to go bad within the next couple days. It was plenty of time, but Arthur wasn’t sure how long it would take Monroe to preserve the meat so he continued with his decision to finish it all tonight.

His shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a thin sheen of sweat dampens his brow and neck, when Monroe makes her way back to the shed to call him in for dinner and there’s something in the domesticity of it that makes Arthur  _ want _ . It’s shoved down, though, deep underneath years of bad deeds and self-doubt as Arthur follows the woman into her home, only pausing to rinse himself off at the water pump. The sun is half hidden behind the tree line, the house shaded in hues of golden red and purple, it’s a beautiful evening.

The inside of Monroe’s house makes Arthur blink, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t the overly warm and cozy feeling it gave off. There’s blankets upon blankets, most of the plush throws made from absurdly soft pelts, all draped across overstuffed furniture that Arthur could imagine Monroe curled up on with King and Bear. The more he absorbs the appearance of the house the more he realizes how well it truly reflects the woman, he toes off his boots and puts his hat on the coat rack before stepping further into the house and follows the tantalizing smell of dinner into the kitchen. Monroe is pulling a tray from the stove, it’s two loaves of golden bread that made the rolls he’d get from Pearson look like hunks of rock, she sets it on the countertop next to a large cast iron pan loaded with the turkey meat he’d carved. The meat is beautifully seared and shiny with fat and juices, Arthur can’t recall the last time he’d ate anything like this as he asks Monroe what she needs help with.

“If you could get the table set up, that’d be great.” She’s grateful for the offer, and Arthur pauses to take in her fresh clothing before gathering plates and utensils.

She’s replaced her stained clothing with a simple white dress, the loose fabric soft and swaying at her knees, and there’s no layers or corset to hold it in place. He notices the small embroidery on the edges, yellow flowers and greenery, and the cord that ties the front of the dress closed is loosely looped below her collarbone. Her feet are bare, tiny toes wiggling against the dark wood floors as she finishes the last preparations for dinner, and Arthur has to physically shake himself to pull his eyes away from her. He ignores the heat across his face and blames his excitement on dinner as he sets the table with single minded focus, making sure to grab the water pitcher as well before asking Monroe what else needs to go on the table.

He’s given a loaf of fresh bread and a jar of butter, along with a bowl of roasted vegetables and instructions to come back for the turkey. They move in an easy rhythm, the two of them fitting well into each other’s spaces, and Arthur finally allows himself this little bit of self indulgence with Monroe.

Once everything is ready, and the two of them are settled in, Monroe loads their plates with vegetables and the bread Arthur had cut into thick slices while the mentioned man cuts the turkey into servings and puts them on the plates as well. Monroe says she’s never had many guests, that people usually didn’t visit to see her when she still lived with her family and now living so far out in the country had her particularly secluded. She doesn’t mind though, she visits the Downes on a regular basis and building the ranch keeps her busy the rest of her time. Arthur isn’t sure what to say, so he reaches out and places his hand over hers instead giving it a gentle squeeze.

“This is perfect.” His words are a soft, rumbling noise from his chest that make Monroe gape at him with round eyes and parted lips. He knows he’s messed up, that she can see through him for the fool he is, but instead she gives him a bright smile and returns the squeeze to her hand with one of her own before carefully pulling away. The moment is fragile, and Arthur refuses to risk breaking it.

He decides to begin eating, and the first bite of buttered bread makes Arthur hum loud in enjoyment. It’s damn good bread, plain and simple. 

Monroe is preening in her seat, expression bright and cheeks pink as she basks in Arthur’s enjoyment of her cooking, as if the outlaw’s approval of her food was the best compliment she’d ever received. She’s eating as well, but Arthur can tell she’s more focused on him as he takes a bite of turkey with amusement that quickly turns to a drawn out groan as he slumps back in his seat.

“Miss Cadence, this has to be about the best food I’ve ever put in my mouth,  _ how  _ did you learn to cook like this?”

Monroe smiles around a bite of bread, swallowing quietly before answering.

“When I was a girl, there was an older woman who lived close by that would bake the most amazing cakes for the locals,” Her expression softens as she speaks “She was always so kind, I begged her to teach me everything she knew, and she’d let me stay at her house until dark to learn as much as possible.” Her tone of voice seems off, but Arthur doesn’t pry.

If there was anything else, he didn’t think Monroe was going to share, so he gave her his most reassuring look before taking a drink of water.

“Sounds like quite the woman.” He tells her and Monroe gives a quiet nod before they continue their meal.

A few moments later he can’t help but ask what she was doing in Rhodes the other night.

“Just passing through, I was on my way to Saint Denis, but wanted a break from the train so I decided I’d ride from there. I’d originally planned to rent a room from the saloon for the night, but..” She trails off, giving Arthur a small smirk that has the man rolling his eyes. The evening is nice, and Arthur is in good company, so he decides he’ll wait till tomorrow to ask about everything else.

He steers the conversation in a different direction, keeping it light with the occasional joke just to see Monroe hide a laugh behind her hand or in her cup. When dinner is finished, Arthur makes sure to help Monroe clean up before heading back outside to finish processing the game in the shed. Monroe offers help but he waves her off, telling her to get some rest and that he’d see her in the morning.

“I’ll warm you up a bath,” She tells him as he’s sliding his boots back on “You can take the spare bedroom across from mine when you’re done.” There’s no room for argument in the way she places her hands on her hips so Arthur simply agrees with a chuckle before stepping out the door.

The cool evening air feels nice against Arthur’s warm skin, flushed from good food and better company, there’s a swagger in his step he hadn’t had in awhile as he walks into the shed. He decides to strip off his shirt, pulling the buttoned garment over his head and leaving it hanging on a random chair, he can use it to wipe the blood off him when he’s finished so he doesn’t track it in Monroe’s home.

_ “Can count the times you’ve seen the woman on one hand,”  _ He thinks to himself  _ “And you’re already halfway gone on her. Damn fool.”  _

It doesn’t stop him from skinning the rabbit, keeping the pelt perfectly intact and scraping the fleshy bits from the skin before setting it aside. He cuts meat from bone and feeds the hounds bits of organs and entrails every so often, he also keeps a foot to make a trinket out of just because. Cutting the rabbit into strips for jerky is methodical and the autopilot like movements leave Arthur with plenty of headspace to think, and he thinks of a lot of things.

The Grays and the Braithwaites, being deputies of Rhodes, the gang and Dutch’s increasingly worrisome plans, how the man refused to listen to reason, and  _ Micah  _ constantly in his ear. 

He sighs through his nose, unsure what to make of the madness going on around him.

Dutch is convinced there’s gold, and the key is to play both families into ratting the other’s stash out, his grand speeches and confidence exciting the camp as well. Arthur doesn’t know how long they’ve got until the families of Rhodes figure out who they are and what they’re doing, but he knows it’ll be soon. They haven’t been down here long enough to be so involved and stay safe, but no one wants to listen to him. His mentor won’t listen to him, and Hosea won’t go explicitly against Dutch, not to mention Micah casting doubt every time Arthur so much as opens his mouth. The only person he knows he can count on is Charles, and the only thing they can do is everything Arthur had tried the past two decades  _ not  _ to do.

Arthur doesn’t know another way to help his family.

Monroe seems to know a thing or two, their conversation the evening before coming back to his mind as he finishes up the rabbit. He repeats her words in his head as he cleans the table and prepares for the buck. Any information would be helpful, he just doesn’t know how to ask her. He sighs and goes to the deer, ignoring Bear who is lapping blood up from the bucket, and unhooks it with ease.

He’ll ask about the gold, he decides while sawing the antlers from the head, figure out why Monroe called it  _ fool’s gold  _ and perhaps she knows something that could help Arthur. It’s grating how his thoughts seem to constantly repeat the same three things back to him, as if not reminding himself every hour will cause him to forget everything.

There’s plenty of other ways to make money without being so involved with those families, and especially seeing all those Lemoyne Raiders’ bounties posted all over the county- between turning them in and taking their shine, there was plenty of profit available to them. Not to mention having found out that the law was also hunting down groups like The Brotherhood could be a potential job as well. Though, with everything going on, Arthur had a sinking feeling that they weren’t going anywhere safe anytime soon- Dutch was too enthralled with this lifestyle to ever leave it, despite the new dangers everyday. 

The man was a king in the outlaw world, take that away and who did you have left?

Arthur thinks of young Tilly and Mary-Beth, barely twenty yet they’d experienced more than folk thrice their age, deserving so much better than a lean-to and a few trinkets to call their own. How Molly wasn’t cut for this life, having come from a wealthy family for a love that was nothing but a passing infatuation, or Marston having to raise his family on the run from the law. He thinks of the woman and child Kieran had saved the night before, how that could have been Abigail and Jack.

How any day could be the boy’s last with his parents.

They have to find another way, one where the gang makes it, because Arthur can’t see past the next month and he’s hesitant to admit how much that terrifies him. His hands are shaking as he sections the meat, his mind taking in the sight of spilt deer blood and replacing it with Lenny and Hosea and Charles and Javier, everyone dead and left to rot by the Pinkertons. He squeezes his eyes tight to banish the visions before finishing the deer, rushing more than he’d like and ignoring the shutter of the knife blade as he fails to stop the shaking in his hands.

There’s butcher paper and twine for Arthur to wrap the meat in, focusing on perfectly packing it so his mind can’t wander. He cleans the shed until it’s nearly sparkling, placing everything back how he found it before finding a few decent sized crates to load the wrapped game in. His mind is artfully blank while he mops the blood from his arms and chest with his shirt and during the two trips it takes to carry the crates into the house, not wanting to use the pump since there’s a bath waiting for him. There’s already brine and salt prepared in the kitchen, along with herb and spice mixtures- for what Arthur isn’t sure of, but they smell nice. He allows himself to wind down when he hears Monroe walk into the kitchen behind him, her footsteps stop abruptly at the doorway.

“Bath is ready whenever you are.” She tells him, her voice is tight but not unkind, and Arthur turns to look at her.

She’s standing in the doorway, her eyes are wide and hands fisted in the skirt of her gown, there’s a beautiful flush across her cheeks and ears. She’s staring at him, her green eyes trailing from his face to his boots and back up, gaze flicking and focusing in different places. Arthur figures it’s the dried blood clinging to him and the scars that mar his skin, that and being half naked in a woman’s home is inappropriate- especially given Arthur’s age and occupation. He clears his throat in his fist before giving a rough apology, it seems to snap Monroe from her stupor seeing how she startles with a small sound and her face burns a darker red. 

“Down the hall and to the right, room next to it is the guest room.” She sounds breathless, pausing for a moment before walking past Arthur to sort through the crates. He allows himself a moment to watch her, drinks in her now loose braid and rosy complexion with an alarming surge of possessiveness. A foreign sense of pride swells in his chest at the sight of how careful she handles the contents in the crates, like she’s savoring the time and effort Arthur put into it. 

_ “I did that,”  _ He wants to believe 

Arthur suddenly wants to be the only person to see her like this, to  _ make  _ her like this, so radiant and content. He pulls himself from the moment, though, and with a silent sigh he heads to the bathroom to bath the blood and grime from his skin. He’s being a fool, wanting something he doesn’t deserve- not to mention he could never achieve it any how, Monroe is an outstanding woman in her prime. Arthur’s a washed up old outlaw with nothing but a high kill count and a higher bounty.

He tries to put away the thought, the urge to reach out and touch as if he had the right to. He can’t escape the thoughts that flash across his mind, snippets of fantasies featuring him and the young woman across the house. 

Monroe bringing him lunch while he finishes building the porch around the house. 

The two of them together on a lazy summer day, Arthur sketching her dancing with King and Bear in the wildflowers.

Being able to walk up to her in confidence, cupping her jaw in his hand to bring to their lips together-

Arthur jerks at the last one, hitting his head against a low hanging shelf and cursing loudly as he rubs the throbbing pain from his skin. He continues to curse himself as he strips down and steps into the bath, his tirade only stopped by the blissful feeling of hot water on his skin. The water is coudly and hot, relaxing his overworked muscles, and the steam smells mildly of lemongrass, the combination causing Arthur to sink lower into the water until he’s submerged to his chin. He soaks in the water while he thinks over his talk with Monroe, what he’s going to ask about what she knows and if he’s going to be able to use whatever she tells him. He hopes so, he’s also curious why Monroe wanted him here in the first place- did she really need his help on the ranch?

He sighs into the water, tilting his head back against the rim of the copper tub that makes him wonder how she could even afford all this in the first place. The stallion, Gallahad, this land, building the ranch and this house, and everything inside it had to cost a small fortune. 

Just what did he actually know about this woman?

He closes his eyes at the question, forcing himself to sit up and grab the soap bar on the bath rack to begin bathing. The soap is soft and smells like blackberries, easily washing away the blood and grit from his skin, he bets there’s a different soap to wash his hair with but he doesn’t bother. He uses the same bar to lather his hair until he feels less cakey and smells pleasant, silently mulling over what little he actually knows about the woman.

Deciding he’s clean enough, Arthur pulls the bath plug to let the water drain before standing and looking for something to dry off with. On the counter he finds a dark towel neatly folded next to a stack of Arthur’s clothes he keeps on his saddle, the clothes are obviously refolded which makes Arthur chuckle as he grabs the towel and dries the water dripping down his chest. He dries his hair last before tossing it into a basket in the corner with a few other towels and grabs his clothes to start getting dressed. The clothes don’t smell as if they’d been on Magnolia’s back for a few days, they smell like fresh powder and peaches that makes Arthur want to greedily inhale. He doesn’t, sliding on his undergarments and a pair of soft worn jeans that he decided to keep as sleepwear- there was something about sleeping underdressed that bothered Arthur, probably the thought of being caught in the middle of the night in just his long johns.

Arthur pads barefoot out of the bathroom, heading back down the hall when he hears Monroe’s voice flit down from the kitchen, he pauses by the wall before walking in.

“... Must think I’m a fool.” He catches, her voice patronizing as she speaks “Like some child with a school yard fancy.”

School yard  _ what _ ?

Arthur holds his breath, leaning in closer.

“As if I know what I’m doing.” She huffs, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor followed by footsteps tells Arthur she’s gotten up “Acting like I’m some perfect housewife, saw how well  _ that  _ went last time.”

She says ‘perfect’ as if it’s poison, followed by the loud clank of jars being put down on the counter with more force than necessary. Arthur feels his brows reach his hairline at ‘ _ last time _ ’.

Monroe had been..  _ married _ ?

The pieces begin to click for Arthur, knowing how to cook and keep house so well for being so young, living with the Downes, the  _ bad man  _ they’d saved her from in New Austin. He swears under his breath, wishing he knew more about the whole story. 

“- wouldn’t believe me, probably,” Monroe’s voice pulls him back into the moment “He doesn’t even know how good he is and, yet, here I am  _ throwing myself  _ at him like I have no self control- as if he’d be okay with that.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue, but quickly remembers he’s  _ eavesdropping _ and snaps his mouth shut.

There’s some shuffling and a heavy thump before Monroe speaks again, her voice thick with emotion that makes Arthur ache deep in his chest.

“After everything, I’m still just a dumb girl who doesn’t know any better.”

Arthur barely manages not to barge in the kitchen and argue, hands fisted at his sides in a show of self restraint as the telltale sounds of soft crying reaches his ears. The man is barely working out his own feelings at the moment, anything he could say or do before he himself is sorted out would only cause more problems.

He clenches his jaw, steeling himself to be able to turn and walk silently back down the hall to the guest room. The room is sparsely furnished but inviting, the bed is large and soft and piled with more pillows and blankets than one person probably needed. Arthur wondered if the over abundance of warmth and comfort in Monroe’s home made up for a distinct lack of it in other areas of her life. He forces himself to lay down, shoving away a fierce wave of protectiveness as he settles into the plush mattress and stares at the ceiling.

Thoughts swirl in his mind, from the argument with Dutch,  _ The Brotherhood  _ (still a ridiculous name), the men who had saved him, and Monroe’s words this evening. How he’s sure she was married before they’d met, how it didn’t sound good, and the possessive jealousy that’s taken residence in his head. As if he has some kind of  _ claim  _ on the woman, as if what he overheard earlier gives him the right to act on his recent urges. He reminds himself that he’s not some good man, that he’s acting selfishly in his desire when he helps Monroe. 

He’s a thief, a killer, an outlaw, and he isn’t capable of being anything else.

Arthur doesn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If they don’t kiss in the next chapter I’m going to riot.


	5. All in a Day’s Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Building porches is easy, building relationships and repairing lifetimes of damage? 
> 
> Not so much.
> 
> It’s like they say, though: honest hard work always pays off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you: The Chapter That Wouldn’t End.
> 
> Seriously, it’s 1000+ words longer than my chapter limit, but it refused to be tamed.
> 
> Anyways- ITS HAPPENING *squeals*
> 
> I told y’all, I don’t know how to slow burn and I love Arthur too much to drag his happiness out more than I absolutely have to.
> 
> That being said! This fic is nowhere near done, I wanted to write something that focused more on the relationship itself and how it changes Arthur along the way while he’s trying to do right by the ones he loves.  
> So, you’ll see the good stuff and the aftermath of the good stuff along with the not so good stuff that comes with it. I’m also a huge sucker for Arthur nearly self sabotaging his relationships because he doesn’t know how to love himself.
> 
> Also, huge HUGE thank you for all your kind words and comments- writing this has become a source of relief from all the mess going on in the world and in my personal life, so seeing your guys love this as much as me makes me so happy. ❤️
> 
> As always, I don’t have a beta, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> So, yeah, rant over, enjoy!

The sun had risen only a few hours after Arthur had retired into Monroe’s guest room, the man already awake to watch it rise slowly over the tree line until the light through the window painted the room golden warm. He sits up when he can no longer bear to lay there, procrastinating from something that he didn’t even know what it was, and runs a hand down his face with a long sigh. He’s tired, but the bed was comfortable enough he didn’t ache nor did his bones crack and pop as he stood. There’s no point in hesitation, so Arthur walks from the room and down the hall in search of his boots and hopefully some coffee.

What he finds is Monroe asleep at the kitchen table, head pillowed in her arms while King and Bear lay at her feet, there are jars of pickled meat and packs of salt cured meat on the counters behind her. Arthur sighs again before walking up to the sleeping woman, being as gentle as possible when he puts a hand on her shoulder to wake her.

She jerks anyways, nearly coming out of her chair with an illegible exclamation, her braid is pretty much destroyed, falling out of its tie in several places, and her eyes are wide and unfocused. Arthur watches as her vision focuses on him and her mind catches up with the rest of the world, she gapes at him before snapping her hand to her face, wiping at her mouth with a deep blush and trying to tame her wild hair. 

It’s amusing to watch her scramble and stutter, but he holds a hand out to stop her.

“It’s alright,” His throat scratches and his voice comes out hoarse “You get yourself situated and I’ll start some coffee.”

“... Sounds great.” She fumbles, beating a hasty retreat to her bedroom with Bear quick on her heels.

Arthur chuckles at King, who is still laying under the table watching them lazily, with no intention of moving unless he absolutely has to, before starting the search for coffee. It’s been awhile since he’s had to make it on a stovetop, but he manages just fine and by the time Monroe is back the coffee is nearly finished. 

She thanks him with a tired but gentle smile, heading to the cabinet and fishing out two mugs for them to use and setting them by the stove. Arthur takes a moment to study Monroe as she leans against the counter, petting Bear who has pressed his large head against her thigh for attention. She’s wearing riding pants, the tan fabric clinging to the full shape of her thighs and strong calves, and her shirt is a simple powder blue cotton pull over. Strawberry hair is pulled back into a messy knot atop her head, stray curls falling around her ears, and Arthur wonders how she got here. 

What was she like before the Downes found her in New Austin?

He mulls over it as he pours them both coffee, drinking his black while watching Monroe lighten hers with cream and honey, and trying to imagine the woman differently from how she is now. From the sound of last night, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see her from before, not if it meant she was hurt and alone. He sighs to himself in the silence and pours another cup of coffee, downing it like a miracle cure then washing the mug and putting it away. When he turns to face Monroe, he finds her watching him just as he had just been moments ago but, unlike Arthur though, Monroe doesn’t have over twenty years worth of experience in schooling her expression. 

The woman looks at war with herself, her grip is white knuckled against her mug and Arthur’s is surprised the cup hasn’t broken, eyes full of intense emotion that’s only deepened by the soft flush along her face. Arthur looks at her and holds her gaze, cocking a brow in challenge when she crosses her arms and tries to stare back just as unnervingly. 

They make it about seven seconds before Monroe’s cheeks puff out in a pout that startles a laugh from Arthur, she huffs in response before cleaning her own mug and mumbling about “Stupidly handsome cowboys.” 

Arthur chokes on his tongue, breathing in wrong and wheezing until Monroe is there patting his hunched over back in an attempt to help.

“You okay?” She asks gently, he nods once he’s able to breathe properly then straightens back up to look at her.

Monroe’s hand is still on his back, warmth seeping through his shirt and branding the skin underneath, their sides pressed close together from how they’re standing. She has to tilt her head back to look at him, reminding Arthur just how much  _ bigger  _ he is than her and it sends a shock down him that settles molten in his gut. He knows he doesn’t scare her, even when they first met she hadn’t been the slightest intimidated by his large stature and hard disposition, and the concern she has for him is genuine. It’s wrong, he knows this- there’s so much they don’t know about one another, skeletons and secrets on both sides- but he can’t help but reach up and cup her face in his palm. It’s warm and soft and Arthur can  _ feel  _ the flush heating her skin as she stares at him with round eyes, there’s a vulnerability here that he knows he’d never see outside this house. 

Outside this moment.

Arthur wants it, he slowly realizes, he wants every part of this woman from top to bottom and all in between. No matter what her past was like, no matter if she truly was married, it didn’t matter what it was, broken or whole, Arthur wants Monroe for everything she is. 

He wants her challenge and her fierce attitude, he wants her soft spots and gentle disposition, he wants her when she’s on top of the world or if she’s down on her luck.

He wants her more than he can deny himself.

And it  _ terrifies  _ him.

There’s so much he needs to filter through before he’s even  _ ready _ to begin down that path, and it’s not like he doesn’t have his own baggage and issues. He has a whole  _ gang  _ depending on him and his undivided loyalty, there wasn’t time for whatever this was with Monroe. Yet, here he is, stroking his thumb across the under curve of her bottom lip as if he’s  _ earned  _ the privilege, damn near combusting when she leans into his hand and turns her head to kiss his palm. 

Arthur can’t stop himself, body moving on its own to crowd her against the counter, his burly frame caging her in against him as he curves over her. He’s got both hands cradling her head now, holding her delicately despite his desperation, committing the feel of her pressed against him to memory as he stares into those clear green eyes. 

“I’m a bad man, Miss Cadence.” He rasps in the few scant inches between them, head spinning with the faint smell of peaches.

“The worst, I’m sure.” Monroe quips, despite her flushed cheeks and soft eyes.

“I hurt people, innocent folk, killed men, too.”

“Because they told you to, or because you wanted to?”

Arthur pauses, staring down at Monroe who waits for his answer, and, when he doesn’t say anything, she leans further into his space. 

She’s looking at him like she knows everything he’s ever done in his life, from watching his Pa beat his mother to an early grave before swinging for his crimes to when Dutch and Hosea had found him trying to steal their money as a starving teenager. All the things he did in desperate attempts to keep his family safe and provided for, but even more so for Dutch’s approval. It feels as if it’s all laid bare to her.

“You- you don’t  _ understand. _ ” He’s scrambling, trying to root through emotion and urges to find the right words.

It’s too much and not enough, she shouldn’t be able to break down everything he's built inside over the years so  _ easily _ , there wasn’t anything about him she could possibly say is  _ good.  _ He shouldn’t be so easily ensnared by Monroe, either, she’s too young and has her whole life ahead of her. He’d only hurt her and the life she’s built.

He couldn’t drag her into his mess, into a life full of bloodshed and hiding, he couldn’t risk the law taking her as bait to drag him out or  _ worse.  _ He thinks of Sadie again losing everything to the O’Driscolls, of Karen and Tilly and Mary-Beth making their way through this life with sexual favors and pickpocketing. He thinks of how Bill and Uncle and  _ Micah  _ leer at the women at camp, expectant because they brought in a few dollars for the ledger. John and Abigail’s strained relationship, the woman having only been freed from whoring because of Jack.

Arthur couldn’t bring Monroe into that.

She’s so close, he’d just barely have to tilt his head to press his lips against hers and it’s tormenting him how bad he wants to taste. His thoughts are a jumbled mess and he doesn’t know where he begins and she ends, all he does know is he doesn’t have enough willpower to keep so close without doing  _ something.  _

“I might not,” She murmurs, breaking his thoughts “But I  _ know  _ that the kind of man who forgives a man’s debt to save his family, who doesn’t look down on me because I’m different than women should be, who brings me an  _ obscene  _ amount of game because he wants to make sure I don’t have to worry about buying food, a man who doesn’t hurt me when he touches me..  _ is the best man I know, Arthur. _ ”

Whatever she sees on his face is answer enough for her.

She pulls his hands from her face, squeezing them gently with a sad expression before letting them drop, and Arthur stands frozen as she frees herself from against the counter and walks away. He’s staring at where she had been standing, mind full of static even when the front door opens and shuts behind him. 

Her words play on loop in his head, wrenching his heart as he replays the pained look she had as she spoke and the gentle sobs he’d heard last night. Arthur doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t know how to balance anything with his lifestyle, having anything outside of the gang has always been impossible to maintain. Especially now with everything going on in Rhodes, Arthur can’t afford to be divided, even if everything in him wants to stay here and never leave-

_ Stay here and never leave… _

_ Stay at the homestead, building, working,  _ living _.. _

Arthur all but jumps from his thoughts, running to the front door as a plan unfolds in his mind.

He hurries after Monroe, nearly tripping twice in his haste to pull his boots on and almost falls out of the door when he exits the house. He jogs into the main yard, looking around but not finding her in the immediate area, she’s also not in the shed or the stables. Galahad is still there, though, munching on grass with Magnolia, which means Monroe is still on the property. He considers calling out to her but doesn’t, continuing to jog across the property in search of her as he tries to figure out just  _ what  _ he’s going to say to her.

If he’s right, if this  _ works _ , it’ll be everything Charles and he were looking for, it’ll be an out for those who need it, safety for the women and Jack,  _ retirement  _ for Hosea.

It could be the freedom Arthur needs to start over, be the better man he’s been told he is, be better for  _ her _ . 

There’s still the matter of Dutch, he reminds himself, could he really do the man who  _ saved him _ like that? Betray twenty years of loyalty and faith so easily? What if Dutch was right, and he  _ did  _ have everything figured out? Not to mention, the moment Micah caught even a whiff of what he was up to, he’d be howling in Dutch’s ear about how  _ right  _ he was about Arthur being a no good coward and a doubter. Arthur would be jeopardizing everything for nothing, and he’d lose his family overnight. 

He sighs, stopping to press the heel of his hands into his eyes to fight off the jumble of emotions threatening to overtake him, why did this have to be so damn confusing? It’d be different if he just thought she was a pretty young woman, Arthur muses, nice to look at but nothing else, but Monroe wasn’t  _ just  _ a pretty young woman. He imagines he wouldn’t be having so much trouble if she’d just stayed angry at him, or actually shot him like she’d threatened. Instead, he’s stuck with a head like a spinning top because she decided he was  _ more  _ than just an outlaw.

Everything’s happening too fast, these past weeks seeming like days yet Arthur feels as if he’s known her for ages 

Everyone’s different, Arthur figures, which means how you get on with everyone is different too. Like John and Charles. When John was first brought in all those years ago, Arthur couldn’t stand him, it had taken the better part of three years for the two of them to just get along for longer than an hour. With Charles, their comradery had been almost immediate, even with the other man’s aloof behavior and aversion to most social interactions, Arthur didn’t know where he would’ve ended up in the last few months without the man. Like now, Charles had given Arthur the option to help keep their family safe, and the support and loyalty between them gave Arthur confidence in his recent decisions. 

Arthur wishes Charles was there with him, he sighs again and starts walking, the man would definitely know better than him in this situation and probably wouldn’t have floundered during such an intense moment. 

He’s rounding the corner of the barn when he sees Monroe sitting on a tree swing a little ways off, King and Bear sprawled in the grass next to her. They don’t react when he approaches, so he clears his throat to get Monroe’s attention.

“Mind if I join?” He asks gently as possible

Monroe stops the swing with her feet, looking up at him with a huff “This is a one person swing.” She unhelpfully informs him.

“I thought I was supposed to be the difficult one?”

She glares at him but doesn’t tell him to go away, so Arthur walks over and leans against the tree next to her then looks out across the property. He chews on his thoughts for a moment, picking his words carefully before speaking in hopes of avoiding another mess up.

He goes for being honest, with her and himself.

“I’m a part of the Van der Linde gang,” He tells her, scratching at his chin “Been running with ‘em for the better part of twenty years, Dutch took me in when I was just a boy and raised me as his own, I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Monroe’s peeking at him from over her shoulder but doesn’t comment, so Arthur keeps talking.

“We’ve lied, stole, and killed across the entire country, I was informed a while back I have a five thousand dollar bounty- dead or alive. I’m his right hand man, or, well, I  _ was  _ until recently I reckon, things ain’t been how they were before. I’ve got dangerous people after me, on both sides of the law, and the fellas I run with ain’t good neither.”

Monroe’s glare softens to a more somber expression, and he pulls her feet back up to let the swing rock slowly “I know about Dutch Van der Linde,” She murmurs “My brother’s a lawman. When I moved down here he made sure I knew all the gangs and such, to keep me out of trouble.”

Arthur chuckles, compartmentalizing the part about her brother being the law for now “I’m more inclined to believe  _ you’re  _ the trouble ‘round here.”

Monroe rolls her eyes, but she’s sort of smiling now “There’s a lot I should tell you,” She admits with a wistful sigh “But I feel like, if I say it, it’ll become real again, you know? And I just want to move on, be happy for once.”

“Why couldn’t you be happy before?” Arthur is concerned, but doesn’t move from his spot against the tree.

“Being such a ‘ _ spirited young lady _ ’ wasn’t exactly acceptable in my family.” She quotes with an air of distaste “My whole life was planned out for me to benefit other people, I never got to decide what was good for me, it wasn’t exactly great.”

Arthur goes to say something to comfort her, but she says something before him.

“But at least I’m not a sad cowboy with a five thousand dollar bounty, I mean, have you tried turning yourself in? Might help.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Arthur’s doubled over laughing, remembering saying the same thing to Ross on the river that day, Monroe hiding her laughter behind her hand next to him. His previous worries seem to evaporate, seeing how easily their tension seemed to bleed out. 

Monroe hops from the swing once the laughter dies out and looks up at Arthur, wringing her hands together, there’s questions in her eyes- and hope.

Arthur chuckles softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear “There’s still a lot we don’t know ‘bout each other,” He tells her “Things I need to tell you, too, and I figure you’ve had a rough run. You deserve a lot better than a washed up old outlaw like me, but if you’re willing to have-  _ oof! _ ”

He’s cut off by Monroe throwing herself at him in a squeezing hug, burying herself against him with a delighted squeal that scares the dogs into alertness. She’s talking a mile a minute against his chest, but he can’t make out a word before she pops her head up for air with a large grin that lights up her entire face.

  
  


_ “The best man I know _ . _ ”  _ Rings in Arthur’s ears, stirring something in his chest as he watches Monroe beam at him, he lets himself return the embrace this time and holds her firmly against him. It’s nice, even if Monroe is whispering about this being the greatest moment of her life as if he can’t hear her. He huffs in amusement, but otherwise enjoys the moment.

“So,” Monroe muses, peeking back up at Arthur “Help finish my porch while I tell you about Rhodes?” It’s a starting point, something easy they can both talk about.

Arthur seriously considers her offer, thinking about his discussion with Charles, the epiphany he’d had earlier clinking around in his head. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea, but it’s the quickest and easiest option he sees at the moment, he’s not even sure if Monroe would agree to it. It does seem like a lot to ask of the woman, but he risks it anyways.

“How about I help you with everything?” He asks, toeing the waters, Monroe furrows her brow “That’s a lot, Arthur.” She murmurs “We wouldn’t be able to do it anytime soon.”

He grins, thanking the heavens for aligning this moment “What if it wasn’t just my help?”

Monroe scrunches her nose “Hired hands are pretty pricey-  _ wait _ ,” She stops and gapes at him “You’re talking about my offer to bring Mr. Matthews too?”

“Hosea ain’t much good for grunt work,” Arthur chuckles “But he’s a fine businessman, so to speak, but I also got plenty of folks good for building and whatnot.”

Monroe just stares at him.

“If-” He reiterates, feeling the need to backtrack “if that’s okay.”

Monroe seems to mull this over, still snug against his chest even if Arthur has shifted his hands due to nerves. She takes a step back after a moment, hands on her hips as she looks up at the man before her then gives a sharp nod.

“Alright.” She allows “if you explain everything to me,  _ about this situation, _ ” She reiterates when Arthur goes to object “Then I don’t see why not.”

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief, gesturing for Monroe to lead the way to begin working and following close by her, he makes a note to head back to camp in the morning and discuss this with Charles. 

Monroe keeps all her tools and supplies in the barn, they’re new and well kept in a way that has Arthur looking at the woman with his brow raised in surprise. She kicks at some dust before taking a big breath as if she was going to force herself to speak, but Arthur holds up a hand to stop her.

“We’ll talk when you’re ready.” 

She deflates with a watery smile, gratitude etched in her expression, before they get to work loading up the wood and tools they’d need for today’s work. There’s idle chatter, mainly about Monroe’s plans for her homestead, or her needling Arthur with questions about himself. He’s grateful she isn’t asking about his profession.

Arthur tells her the mundane things about himself, about his childhood dog Copper, how he’d come across Magnolia May, he talks about enjoying sketching because words never seem to describe what he sees. It’s nice, he feels, talking so easily and seeing Monroe beam at him as he lets her in more and more with every word.

Monroe learns his favorite color is blue and she laughs at his stories of growing up with John, she also agrees that Hosea is a ruthless gossip but warns Arthur she will be asking the man for stories. In return, Arthur learns that Monroe is from the north and she’s afraid of goats because they chased her and ate her hair when she was a girl. 

She’s twenty three, and when Arthur informs her of their thirteen year age gap Monroe tells him that she’s a grown woman and is fully capable of deciding what’s appropriate for herself. Monroe also tells him that her grandparents are fourteen years apart, and that they’d married when her grandpa was seventeen and her grandmother was thirty one. “They’re still happily married,” She informs him “and have been for fifty two years.”

After that she heads off to get Galahad so he can pull the loaded wagon out of the barn, leaving Arthur with his thoughts. He rethinks over what he wants, how he’s going to tell her, he wonders if it’s even actually what he wants. 

How was he even going to  _ afford  _ a ranch way out here big enough to house that many people, let alone find a place to put it-

He freezes, nearly dropping the hammer he’s holding as he remembers the man from yesterday.

_ “There’s been a lot of trouble from some gang close by, they took over the Hanging Dog Ranch not too far from here!” _

Monroe hasn’t mentioned any trouble, and from what Arthur can tell there’s no signs of disturbances close by, which means the ranch is likely just a base and they're far away enough for Monroe not to be in their sights. If Arthur could somehow get his hands on the ranch…

He’d have plenty of room, they’d be tucked away enough to stay out of trouble. If Monroe agrees, not only would they have a solid cover from the law, she could expand to do whatever she wanted with their help. They’d all be able to move on.

Arthur doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but there’s a warmth blooming in his chest that he can’t snuff out.

Monroe comes back with Galahad while Arthur is loading up the last few wood planks, he straps the horse up for her ignoring her pout that she could do it herself. He placates her with a soft smile and a simple 

“ _ You shouldn’t have to while I’m here _ .”

That leaves her rosy cheeked and wide eyed, obviously not expecting such an open answer from the man, and, honestly, Arthur isn’t sure how he feels about being so open. However, seeing how pleased and pink Monroe is from it, Arthur is willing to try. 

He’s willing to try a lot of things.

When they leave the barn, Arthur notices that Magnolia is out in the front field grazing on wildflowers with Bear keeping watch within the fenced area. She’s free of her tack, tail swishing in content as she eats and basks in the warm morning sun. Arthur feels a swell of gratitude that’s softer than he’s used to, he wonders if it’s just his age that’s getting to him.

A glance at Monroe, hair falling from its knot, smiling full and unhindered from her perch on the wagon, tells him otherwise.

  
  


Work is easy for Arthur, hence him being so often referred to as the “ _ workhorse”  _ around camp, anyone who needed anything done always came to the man. He’s built countless camps and buildings, repaired wagons and stables, worked on and off as a ranch hand when needed. Hammering wood into place for a porch is easy, Arthur can do it with little effort, which leaves him open for the conversation he needs to have with the woman across from him. 

Monroe is sanding the planks after they’ve been put down, evening out any leftover coarseness and making sure they lay down together seamlessly. 

“So,” He starts, trying not to be awkward  _ now,  _ of all times “About earlier?”

Monroe looks up at Arthur, pausing her movements before sitting back on the balls of her feet “The Rhodes’ families don’t have any gold, it dried up after the civil war-  _ that’s _ why you’re so wound up, isn’t it? Dutch wants the rumored gold.” She sounds indifferent, but there’s a delicacy in her tone he knows is meant for his benefit.

Arthur nods quietly, feeling like he shouldn’t already be so used to the woman being able to read him so easily.

“My brother had to go down to Rhodes for work when we still lived together, he’s a little younger than you, the feud down there had become so bad that the local government felt the need to bring in outside law enforcement to help with the power struggle. Not that it worked.” She shrugged, making Arthur snort as he hammered another board down.

“He was only gone a few months before he came home and said they’d declared the town a lost cause, decided to let them kill each other then start over from what was left. Apparently while the Greys decided to monopolize the town and it’s authority to rebuild its name and fortune, the Braithwaites aligned themselves with the opposing side. Like moonshiners.” She can’t help but tease, giggling at Arthur’s embarrassment.

“So, basically,” Arthur sighs, setting down the hammer for a moment, “You’re sayin’ there’s no gold, and we’ve been played for a bunch of fools between these folks.” He doesn’t ask because it’s not a question. 

“Pretty much.” Monroe quips “They ran out of most of their money trying to preserve their lifestyle after having to actually pay people to work, and had to invest in other things to keep what little fortune they had left.” She’s far from impressed, nose scrunched up “Whatever they promised you, or whatever you heard, it’s all lies and I wouldn’t be surprised if they sold you out once things stop going how they want.”

Arthur breathes hard from his nose, hands balling into fists against his thighs as he tries not to lose his temper, he’s hot all over with anger. They’d been  _ right _ , him and Charles, they knew this was all a bunch of horse shit and  _ now everyone was in danger.  _ He’s seething in place, trying to wrestle down the bubbling heat in his gut so he doesn’t do something stupid, when Monroe reaches over and puts a hand over his. 

“Is that why you wanted to talk about Mr. Matthews?” She asks softly, rubbing her thumb against his scarred knuckles.

It’s grounding, the gentle back and forth soothing the frigid anger he feels, he lets out a deep breath before answering with a tight voice.

“Yeah, got good people who could get hurt in all this, people I care about. Family.”

Monroe nods, scooting a bit closer before gently urging Arthur to tell her everything.

He does.

He tells her about the fiasco in Blackwater, losing folk, having to rescue others, about Leviticus Cornwall and all  _ that mess _ that had them fleeing from Horseshoe. The Pinkertons closing in, Dutch spurning him when he speaks up,  _ Micah  _ constantly whispering in the man’s ear. He talks about Jack losing his parents, Hosea dying an undeserved death after all these years, those who depend on him to pull his weight and then some.

Arthur doesn’t tell her how it feels like it’s crumbling in his hands, that he’s one confrontation away from stringing Micah from a tree. He doesn’t tell her how much it hurts to have Dutch doubt his loyalty, his faith,  _ him _ . She doesn’t hear about the nightmares or the paranoia, how he’s fraying at the edges and there’s no one to stitch him back together.

He doesn’t tell her he’s scared.

Instead he tells her about his to be started plans with Charles and Hanging Dog Ranch, how if he could get it he would have somewhere for everyone to go, to be  _ safe  _ after years of running. They’d all be able to start anew and get away from this life, they’d have a home and work and the freedom to be whatever they wanted with their lives. 

“I’d like for you to be a part of it,” He mumbles gruffly “Figured we could start over and move on.. Together..” He rubs his neck, looking off to the side. 

Monroe blinks, then blinks again, mouth ajar as she looks at Arthur, and he wonders if he said something wrong with how long the silence lasts. 

“Was,” He clears his throat roughly “Was that too much?”

Monroe seems to restart slowly, before taking a deep breath of her own and squaring her shoulders, eyes boring into his.

“We’re finishing this porch today,” She tells him “Because if I don’t focus on something that isn’t you, I’m going to jump you and I  _ don’t want splinters _ .” Then begins to aggressively sand the wood in front of her before adding:

“Go in the morning and to talk to Charles, and take some salves and tonics back with you.”

Arthur can’t help but grin wide, the stretch in his cheeks unfamiliar but not unpleasant, despite the wave of heat that curls down from his ears and settles low in his gut. There’s a tantalizing flash of a fantasy across his mind that he dispels before it can fully form, and he returns to his work on the porch in a compatible, yet charged, silence.

The work until the noonday sun is high and heating harshly down on the homestead, even with the shade from the trees it’s becoming unbearably hot. Arthur’s shed his shirt to ease some of the smothering discomfort, sitting on the nearly completed porch next to Monroe. They’re sharing a simple lunch of sliced cured meat and cheese, along with some wild blackberries that grow along the property. From their spot they can see Galahad and Magnolia resting in the shade of a large oak tree, a half eaten pile of apples next to them. The dogs are panting on the porch nearby, bellies full and satisfied as well, it’s a peaceful moment. Monroe has her arm flush with his despite the warmth, it had taken her a moment to stop shamelessly staring at Arthur’s bare torso and she’d only done it to argue with Arthur on the attractiveness of his scars.

“ _ Say you’re ugly again, Morgan, and I’ll throw you in the river.” _

Listening to Monroe compliment him, teasing him with sultry comments when he wasn’t expecting it, left Arthur feeling light headed. He didn’t want to believe her, he wanted to discourage the lingering looks and warm words, because he didn’t know what she saw in him, but Arthur had decided to be honest with himself when it came to Monroe- so he didn’t say anything and allowed himself to feel a little bit better about himself with her. 

He wasn’t a fool, they’d teased one another a bit before now, he’d almost kissed her in the kitchen only hours ago, but this seemed different. He wondered if it was because he’d come to terms with himself in regards to the woman next to him, that he simply embraced the fact he wanted her. He’d told her as much, anyhow, and now, while she hadn’t changed how they acted, it all felt more  _ natural  _ almost. As if this was how it was supposed to be all along, and he’d just been a fool for delaying the inevitable.

While it didn’t change what Arthur felt about himself- an  _ old, washed up, worthless, no good outlaw _ \- it did give him reason to want to  _ try  _ to be more, even if it was near impossible.

He knew he was thinking too fast, too far ahead, just because they’d had a whirlwind beginning didn’t mean everything else would happen just as quick and strong. All of this was brand new and both of them were still too cracked and chipped to come together so hard without completely shattering. 

For all her talk, Arthur knew she was nervous, he knew that she was just as scared of all this as he was, they’d both been hurt in the past. Arthur, by his own foolishness and pride, and Monroe, by the foolishness and pride of others. He wonders how deep her scars run, and if they’re all of the heart and mind, especially since he’s yet to see any on her skin. It’s staggering, how much she trusts him not to hurt her, when it’s obvious she’s been hurt before by a man who was supposed to love and protect her.

“ _ A man who doesn’t hurt me when he touches me.. _ ”

It makes him grind his teeth, knowing that some worthless bastard thought he could put his hands on Monroe in such a way. He glances down at the woman, she’s leaned against him and looking out over the field with a wedge of cheese dangling from her mouth, perfectly content where she’s at. He relaxes against her, smiling to himself, content with knowing that despite the past she’s with him now and he’d never allow her to hurt like that again.

“I can’t believe all that’s left are the stairs.” Monroe muses moments later after having swallowed her cheese “You’re amazing, a legend, really, Jack of all traits.” She’s playing with him, pushing his buttons to see how much she can get away with “Horse whisperer, gunslinger, bartender, sheriff deputy, you’re the whole package!”

“Alright, alright,” He chuckles and shrugs her off “That’s enough outta you.”

She pouts dramatically, flinging herself back on the porch with a loud huff of overdone offense “Why I never!” She trills “For such a fine man as yourself, you are quite the brute, Mr. Morgan!” 

He rolls his eyes, pulling himself to his feet with a quiet groan to work the kinks from his back “If you can play around, you can build stairs, c’mon now.” He chides, huffing a laugh when Monroe throws an arm over her face and cries her woes to the sky. 

Once she’s had her fun, she hops up as well and clears away the leftovers before helping get what they need for the stairs. They work quietly for the most part, focused on finishing the porch before the heat of the day sinks in within the next few hours, only talking when they need help. 

They finish just before the sun becomes unbearable, sweat slick and exhausted they collapse on the finished stairs in a heap of overheated limbs. Monroe’s hair is ruined, the heat turning the strawberry locks into wild curls and waves that constantly fell from her hair tie. She’d eventually cursed the unruly mane and twisted it into a hasty braid that held together for maybe twenty minutes before she gave up and let it be. 

She’s flushed pink across her ears and face, it sweeps down her neck and collar, and Arthur catches a glimpse of rosy skin when the hem of her shirt dips down her shoulder every so often- the cotton stretched from all the moving and working she’s done. 

“It’s bath time.” Monroe decides, splaying her feet out “A nice cool one, what do you think?” 

Arthur chuckles but nods, liking the idea of sinking his overheated muscles into chilled water “You take the first one.” He offers.

“You’re the best.” She chimes, voice tired and drawn out, before pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, smiling at his jolted reaction. She leaves inside with an air of satisfaction, most likely at the fact that she can press small kisses against the man without hindrance now. 

_ ‘How does she do it?’  _ He thinks, resting his elbows against the higher ledge behind him and looking up at the clear blue sky. How does she do those things so free and easily after everything she’s been through, when Arthur can barely come to terms with his own feelings? He sighs, watching sparse clouds flit across the sky as he thinks over that’s supposed to happen in the next few days.

There’s no way they’ll be ready by the time Hosea goes back to the Braithwaites, and he can’t imagine what the fallout will be because of it. No doubt he’ll be stuck in the thick of it again, scrambling about to clean up  _ another disaster _ while trying to keep folk alive and safe. Seems like since the Blackwater ferry job fell through, everything else they’ve tried has ended poorly, and can’t none of them catch a break in these past months. 

It makes his gut turn to lead, thinking about it all, but he has to see reality for what it is, they can’t all stick their heads in the sand and pretend they’ve got control over everything. He rolls a crick from his neck and thinks of what he’ll have to do to get that ranch, he should probably find it and make sure it isn’t ruined by whoever’s squatting there. If they’re truly that much trouble, Arthur doesn’t see anyone having a problem with him chasing them off in exchange for a better deal on the property. Not that he has any desire to work  _ with  _ the bank, but, he figures he’ll have to at least partially be on the right side of the law on this one.

It won’t be easy, it’s a half formed plan riddled with holes and weak spots, but it has potential.

His musings are interrupted by the front door opening and soft footsteps, and Arthur sits up to turn and face Monroe as she walks over to him.

Arthur doesn’t know if the novelty of seeing Monroe so fresh and content will ever fade, but he prays it doesn’t, because she’s beautiful like this. Damp hair pulled up in a braided knot, barefoot in a soft yellow summer gown that drapes just above her knees, a small smile on her face that makes him simmer in a pleasant warmth. He pulls himself to his feet, greedily drinking in his fill at the sight of her, unable to help himself, no longer able to stave off the thoughts and desires that flick across his mind. The voice is still there, taunting and cruel in the back of his mind, whispering vile things to make him stop short where he stands.

_ No good _

_ Too old _

_ Liar. Killer. Thief. _

_ You’ll ruin her like you’ve ruined everything else. _

Monroe stops just a couple steps away, she’s got a beer bottle in her hand that she takes a short sip from before offering it to Arthur. Arthur who watches her tongue drag across plush lips to collect excess moisture, leaving her mouth shiny, and Arthur  _ wants.  _ He barely manages to take the bottle without acting a fool, bringing to his lips for a long drag after thanking her. It’s good quality, he notes, enjoying the smooth glide down his throat as he swallows.

“That’s not half bad.” He compliments, handing the bottle back, she shakes her head for him to keep it.

“Thanks, I don’t drink often but, when I do, I prefer for it not to taste like piss.” She tells him, snickering when he almost chokes on a laugh “Bath’s ready for you, by the way.” 

Bathing daily isn’t a luxury Arthur’s ever been able to afford, it’s usually scraping gunk off with a gritty bar of soap in a freezing river unless he’s got spare time and change for a hotel bath. Which is few and far between, so the opportunity to bath two days in a row makes Arthur groan appreciatively. 

“You are too kind.” 

Monroe rolls her eyes good naturedly, gesturing for Arthur to go inside “High praise, Arthur.” She teases as he laughs and walks past her into the house. 

He doesn’t waste any time after that, shucking his boots off at the door and taking long strides to the bathroom where he peels himself out of sweat dampened clothes before sinking into blissfully cool water. The water isn’t scented this time, it’s cool and clear and Arthur allows himself to take advantage and relax for a few minutes before grabbing the same blackberry scented soap from before. He scrubs himself until he feels clean and refreshed, then lets the water out and climbs from the tub to grab the towel off the counter. There’s more clothes waiting for him, and Arthur feels himself smile wistfully. 

She really is too kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love me some soft and emotionally vulnerable Arthur, anyone else? He almost seems out of character, but I like to think he would’ve been something like this if Rockstar hadn’t been so adamant on ripping my heart out.


	6. Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life happens faster than anticipated, and Arthur’s endurance is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been too nice to me (TTuTT) Have another chapter!
> 
> Fair warning: it’s mostly angst in varying degrees with a smidge of fluff. Oops.
> 
> I also wanted to tell you guys that the song Living Right by The Score is literally the inspiration for this fic, and it’s perfect for Arthur and Monroe.
> 
> The other thing is that apparently I played the Rhodes missions in the wrong order? I burned the fields before I stole the horses and I didn’t realize it was intended to be played the other way around. I dunno. The dialogue and game plot still worked so I guess it doesn’t matter.
> 
> As always, I have no beta, but please enjoy!
> 
> I love you guys so much!!

Monroe insists on an early dinner, reminding Arthur that they barely slept a wink last night and they spent most of the day working, and he doesn’t argue with her. It’s a light affair, similar to their lunch, which settles better on his stomach after a long day of working than thick stew back at camp. There were a lot of evenings he went without supper, knowing good and well it’d just turn to lead in his stomach and hurt him in an hour or so. 

Exhaustion is creeping up fast, Arthur can feel his eyes dropping and Monroe has to rest her head in her hand to stay upright as they sit at the table. 

They manage to clean up after themselves, and Arthur excuses himself first, reaching out and stroking Monroe’s hair as he says good night. She kisses his wrist this time, lips gentle against his pulse as she gently murmurs for him to sleep well, his skin scalding at the contact. He almost oversteps, offering something he shouldn’t, having to bite his tongue against the invitation as he makes his way to bed. It haunts him, the thought of being able to pull her into bed with him, imagining the press of her supple body against his as he holds her close.

He’s not even sure if what he’s wanting is sexual, but he doesn’t want to risk it.

Arthur crawls into bed thinking that it’d be nice to fall asleep next to Monroe, curl her against his chest and feel her smile against the hollow of his throat as they drift off. He wonders if she sleeps neatly tucked in or sprawled across the mattress, probably a combination of some sort. Mary had always slept with her back to Arthur’s chest the few times they did sleep together, allowing him to drape an arm across her waist but nothing more. It was a matter of propriety, Arthur knows Mary has strict and rigid standards, something he could never get a grip on. He’s sure Monroe grew up with those same standards, probably worse from the sounds of it, and it’s obvious she doesn’t share the same sentiment about them.

He doubts she’d have any quarrels with Arthur holding her, “ _ She'd probably insist on it.”  _ He thinks with a chuckle, letting himself drift off to the thoughts of waking up to a tousled mess of strawberry curls and soft green eyes.

Hours later, there’s a gentle knock on the door that stirs Arthur awake and his first thought is  _ “When did sleep become so hard to come by?” _ Before he remembers there’s only one other person in the house and nearly bolts from the bed.

He manages to answer the door without tripping over himself, hoping he doesn’t look like some over eager fool.

Monroe is standing at the door, her hair loose and curled over her shoulder, her eyes are watery and red rimmed as she looks at him. She seems smaller like this, shrunk in on herself as she fidgets with the hem of her gown. 

Arthur knows what nightmares look like.

He silently stands to the side, opening the door more in silent invitation, giving her a reassuring smile. She manages a grateful look, shuffling inside and sitting heavily on the bed with her hands laying useless in her lap.

“Sorry for bothering you so late.” She mumbles, keeping her eyes on her hands.

Arthur shakes his head, coming over and sitting next to the woman with a soft sigh “Ain’t bothering me, don’t worry.” He tells her, reaching over and taking both of her hands in one of his “Did you wanna talk about it?”

She shrugs, curling her fingers against his “It’s nothing, really.”

“Don’t seem like nothing.” He points out

Monroe puffs her cheeks out at him but relents “Sometimes, when I go to sleep, I wake up back in New Austin and it’s like the Downes never found me.”

Arthur lets her lean against him, resting his head on hers “That bad?” He can’t help asking, she nods against him “You don’t have to talk about it, we all got things we wish would stay buried.” 

She sighs softly “I want to tell you, just- just not yet.”

The man looks at Monroe with a sense of guilt, he knows it’s not his doing and he knows it’s not possible, but he wishes he could do something more to stop the hurt. He’s never been good at these types of things, comfort didn’t come easy to the man, but he’d always tried to be there for folks.

He’s not sure what to do when he recalls his thoughts from earlier, his desire to hold her and feel her anchored against him as they slept. Monroe always seemed to take any chance to be close to Arthur, from a simple brush of touch to a full embrace, and he’s constantly awed by how she seemingly contours perfectly against him before relaxing.

So Arthur shifts and nudges Monroe, urging her to lie down before following suit and pulling her close. He’s got his back to the doorway, holding her as if protecting her from the outside world, she’s tucked securely under his chin. 

“We all got demons, Monroe,” He murmurs into her hair “You’re not alone in this, not anymore.”

Monroe pauses before wiggling against Arthur until she can look up at him with wide eyes “I think this is the first time you’ve called my by my first name.”

Is it? He furrows his brow, thinking back. Huh.

“So it is,” He rumbles, voice thick and rough from sleep “Hadn’t noticed.”

“I like how it sounds, when you say it.” She admits, it’s too dark where they’re laying but Arthur’s sure she’s flushed from the admission. 

It makes something deep in him curl up in contentment, and he gets an idea to hopefully lighten the heaviness in the air.

Arthur leans in, letting himself loom over Monroe as he murmurs against her ear “Good night,  _ Monroe _ .” As deep as his throat can manage, and he relishes in the shiver he feels against him, not missing the tiny giggle that escapes her either, before settling back down to hold her close.

“G’night, Arthur, and thank you.” He feels her whisper against his collar before drifting off, smiling into her hair.

Arthur wakes up a second time to light flooding through the window with a warm body against his, he’s laying on his back and Monroe is draped across his chest. Their legs are tangled and her hair is dangerously close to being in his mouth, he chuckles and pats the unruly curls gently in hopes of not waking her. He feels the best he has in a long while, there’s no aches or dried blood making his mornings stiff and uncomfortable, and the lack of bustling about he’s used to taking off the edge of constantly having to be up and productive this early. 

He’s half tempted to go back to sleep, take advantage of such a rare opportunity to get a few more hours of rest, when the dogs start barking outside. It’s loud and threatening, causing Monroe to jerk awake with a yelp, scrambling to sit up and see. Arthur sits up as well with a forlorn groan, reaching over for his gun belt and bandolier off the nightstand.

“I got it.” He grumbles, pulling himself from bed and padding barefoot outside to check on all the commotion while slipping on his ammunition.

King and Bear are at the front entrance to the property, hackles raised as they snarl at some poor bastard-  _ wait a damn minute. _

Arthur  _ knows  _ that poor bastard.

“ _ Charles? _ ” He blurts incredulously 

“ _ The  _ Charles?” Monroe chimes from behind, nearly giving Arthur a damn heart attack.

She whistles and the dogs back off, allowing Taima to nervously prance past them and onto the property. Charles doesn’t even look bothered, he actually seems impressed as he dismounts and walks to the porch. The dogs zip past him, coming to sit on the porch by Monroe who pets their heads and coos at them for being such good boys. 

“Sorry to barge in so early,” Charles apologizes “But it’s important. Hosea’s heading to The Braithwaite’s today.”

Arthur curses loudly, running a hand down his face, he  _ really  _ wasn’t planning on hauling ass down to Rhodes on such short notice but Charles most likely spent most the night trying to find him so he couldn’t find it in himself to complain. 

He looks at Monroe, ready to apologize when he sees the woman holding his boots and satchel with a small smile “Duty calls.” 

He smiles warmly at her, slipping into his boots and throwing on his satchel, he lets her hug him goodbye and murmurs his farewell against her hair. Monroe reaches up on the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek before waving him and Charles off, wishing them a safe trip.

“Sorry we couldn’t formally meet,” Charles apologizes to Monroe “But I’ve heard good things.”

“Same here, you’re welcome to come back when it’s not so..” Monroe waves her hands to emphasize the situation, making Charles chuckle.

Arthur jogs past Charles, ignoring his smirk, and hurries into the stables to grab Magnolia’s tack. He makes quick work of saddling up and is mounting when Monroe runs back over to him with a second satchel and his other clothes.

“Take this, and be safe.” She breathes, slightly winded from running about, Arthur smiles down at her and promises to be back soon before riding off with Charles. 

Charles at least has the decency to wait until they’re on the main road before saying anything.

“So, it seems like your visit was..  _ productive. _ ” He murmurs, it sounds harmless but Arthur knows the man better and barely refrains from kicking him off his horse. There’s a gleam in Charles’ eyes that means trouble, and Arthur resolutely looks forward with no intention of indulging the other man.

Too bad said man is impervious to Arthur’s tactics and a nuisance when he wants to be.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you never got around to discussing Rhodes with her.”

Arthur’s not sure if he wants to groan, pull his hair out, or sink into the ground and let it swallow him- probably all three with how amused Charles looks, but he settles for giving a harsh breath through his nose and glaring half heartedly at the man. 

“We were right, they all ran outta gold after the war.” He says, ignoring Charles’ implications despite the heat in his ears and across the back of his neck. 

The man felt  _ possessive  _ of his time with Monroe, every look and touch he wanted to keep completely to himself, it was something he wanted to keep locked up and secure for no one else to see. He wasn’t sure if it was a selfish desire, or one to protect Monroe from being discovered by more folk on his side than strictly necessary, but it was an unfamiliar desire all the same. Everyone knew about Mary, they may not have approved, but they knew, and they never tried to interfere or hurt their relationship.

_ “Things was different back then”.  _ Arthur thinks darkly, a heavy storm cloud in his mind to serve as a reminder of how drastically things have changed. 

“Apparently, the government sent some lawmen to Rhodes to sort out this mess a while back,” Arthur continues explaining to Charles to escape his darkening thoughts “Didn’t do no good, and now they’re just waitin’ for all these bastards to kill each other to rebuild the town.” 

“Seems like they won’t have to wait much longer.” Charles comments, eyes serious as they look ahead.

Arthur shifts in his saddle, deciding to bring the ranch up to Charles, they’d have plenty of time to discuss his idea on the way to Rhodes. 

“I found something else, too, not too far from here.” He tries to sound properly suggestive, and the way Charles glances back at him tells him it’s working “There’s a ranch a little ways out, apparently some other gang’s sittin’ in it and and causin’ a lot of trouble for the locals. I figured, I don’t know, we could look into it.” He sighs and drops Magnolia’s reins, she’ll follow Taima no trouble so all he’s really doing is nervously fiddling with the leather. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what he was expecting, the ranch idea was a spur of the moment plan that was half cocked at best. Charles looks contemplative, however, and nods at whatever he’s thinking “What did you have in mind?” He asks, easing the weight on Arthur’s chest.

“It’s out of the way, big enough for whoever wants to come along, and I doubt the law’s lookin’ for outlaws at a mostly legal business.” He shrugs “You’ll have to work out the finer details.”

Charles chuckles “ _ Mostly  _ legal?”

“You tellin’ me you think we could do anything completely by the book?” 

“Fair enough,” Charles agrees “I’ll come back and scout out the area while you’re finishing up in Rhodes, we’ve got time, best use it wisely.”

Arthur nods before remembering the second satchel he was given and pulls it from the back of his saddle to investigate what’s in it. It’s bigger than his, despite the upgrades he’d gotten from Pearson, made of soft black leather that was thick and sturdy. It’s heavy, completely full of whatever Monroe had wanted him to have, and when he opens it there’s a slightly crumpled note folded in half at the top that reads:

_ Arthur, _

_ Please do not go hunting before you come back, my smokehouse has reached its limit and I’ll never need jerky again.  _

_ Also, you snore like a bear. _

_ See you soon, _

_ Monroe _

“That woman..” He chuckles, shaking his head, Charles looks curious and Arthur deliberates for half a moment before handing the note over to the man. Despite his unprecedented need to monopolize Monroe, he doesn’t mind sharing this with Charles, also, he figures he should probably  _ not  _ give into those kinds of urges. Something tells him Monroe wouldn’t appreciate it.

Charles snorts in amusement next to him, the paper held carefully in his hands as he reads over it a second time before refilling it and handing it back “So what'd she give you?”

Arthur roots through the satchel after safely tucking the note away and finds a large bundle of seasoned deer jerky along with several tonics and salves, and-  _ a bar of soap? _

He inspects the soap and smells blackberries, remembering the soap he’d used at Monroe’s, he hadn’t thought much of it but apparently Monroe had. It made him huff fondly, feeling a warmth in his chest before looking over the jars and bottles clinking in the satchel.

_ Elderberry?  _ Arthur squints at one bottle, reading the handwritten label and is somehow not surprised Monroe’s handwriting is blocky and neatly printed rather than common sprawling script. 

“This one’s supposed to keep you from getting sick.” He reads off, then hands it to Charles to inspect while he rummages through more.

There’s tonics for health, energy, head colds and aches, sleep, there’s tonics he’s never even heard of in the satchel. Some are for horses as well, he notices, and smiles at the consideration.

“This is impressive,” Charles comments, now holding multiple tonics to look over “Normally medicine this quality would cost a small fortune.”

Arthur pauses reading over a jar of salve that’s supposed to soothe sore muscles “I don’t think she sells it for that much, said she sells ‘em to small town stores and gives it to folks who can’t afford much.”

Charles furrows his brow “I assumed she was doing well for herself from the looks of it.”

“It’s, uh, complicated.  _ She’s  _ complicated.” Arthur explains “Ain’t talked much about it, pretty sure she ain’t talked to nobody about it.” Except maybe the Downes, but that felt like a given with their history.

He can understand, there’s things he’ll likely never talk about that still haunt him after all these years. Mistakes he’s made, regrets that keep him up at night, it wouldn’t be fair of Arthur to force Monroe to talk before she’s ready, seeing how he sure as hell wasn't ready either. 

Arthur sighs to himself, grateful Charles doesn’t push the issue but instead asks about the jars of salve Monroe gave him.

“She’d wanted me to take some back with me,” He muses, handing Charles one that’s for small wounds “She’s got a little workshop packed full of all this stuff.”

Charles listens as Arthur describes the cram packed shelves of goods that Monroe has at her homestead, the tonics and salve but also the canned and jarred goods he’d seen. He tells the man about dinner the other night, and how she’d seamlessly sanded the porch they’d built the other day. Arthur hadn’t met another woman so flexible and diverse in their talents and interests, and he mentions to Charles that he thinks it’d be good for the women at camp to learn from Monroe as well. They’re all close in age, and it’d be good for the girls to have a variety of skills beyond what the gang could offer. 

While Arthur loves Miss Grimshaw dearly, he knows that the woman hasn’t taught the girls much past cleaning, stealing, and sex.

When Charles prods him a little more about it, Arthur tells him that Monroe is willing to help them settle into the ranch and start over. That he wants to see folks thrive, not die out by the hands of gang violence and lawmen, that they deserve a choice in whether or not they want to continue living like this.

Monroe had opened Arthur’s eyes to a lot of things lately, and had challenged Arthur to see himself as  _ more  _ than what others saw him as. Arthur would’ve happily given everything until his dying breath for Dutch, but now Arthur wonders if that even matters to the older man or. He used to mean more than the strength of his back, more than the pain his hands could bring a man, he used to  _ matter. _

When did that stop?

He thinks of Abigail asking him to rescue John and take Jack fishing, the boy eagerly showing him his new toys and books when he’d happen to walk by. When Mary-Beth comes to him about her writing, letting him read over it with hopeful eyes, the two of them laughing over romantic woes. The times when Tilly and Karen would sit him down and let him just  _ talk  _ about whatever it was that was bothering him, offering him kind words and reassuring touches. 

He remembers when John came to him about the train job, wanting a second opinion and good help, and Sean eager to improve and impress. 

He thinks of Charles next to him, strong and silent and always there, always offering a hand or sound advice when Arthur needs it, how he never hesitates to call him out when he’s out of line. 

He thinks maybe he was too caught up in chasing after Dutch to notice how he mattered to others. 

It’s a kick in the gut, hurting Arthur to his core, but he doesn’t discourage the pain, rather, he embraces it and uses it as a reminder that he's been one hell of a fool lately. He’d always prided himself on being able to provide for his family, keep them safe and taken care of, yet he was selfish in thinking no one cared because of one person. 

His world had always revolved around Dutch, he’d found purpose and a home in the man when he had nothing, things are different now, though, and Arthur wonders when his world started to change. 

Looking over at Charles he wonders if him changing was a long time coming.

“You really care for this woman, don’t you?” Charles asks, his soft tone breaking Arthur’s thoughts.

He coughs into his fist awkwardly, trying to stave the heat spreading across his ears “I mean..” He trails off, not able to make an excuse. 

Charles chuckles at him, he’s opening a jar of salve that’s a muted yellow and smells like honey and cactus to inspect it closer. “It’s not a bad thing, in fact,” He looks over at Arthur with a small but genuine smile “I think she’s the best thing to happen to you in awhile.” 

Arthur blinks, taken back by the sentiment “What makes you say that?”

“I didn’t know you long before Blackwater, but you were different then, you were harder, a lot more cold blooded. You’ve always been good to the gang, strong and reliable, but recently you’ve become more involved with everyone.” Charles explains “I know the ferry job going south did a number on everyone, but you seemed to take it the hardest, and no one knew how to help you.”

Arthur goes to assure Charles he doesn’t need any help but the man gives him such a dry look he keeps his mouth shut. It’s best to let Charles speak on the rare occasion he’s got more than a few words to say, anyhow.

“You were angry, and when you weren’t angry you looked like you’d been gutted, you overworked yourself in and out of the camp. I thought I was going to find you literally dead on your feet one day, a lot of us did.”

Arthur sat silently in his saddle, digesting Charles’ words but not sure what to do with them, he hadn’t realized he’d gotten so bad- so  _ noticeably  _ bad. It made guilt twist in his gut, having so many folk worrying about him when he was supposed to be the one keeping them from worrying. 

“Then, one day out the blue, you come back to camp and you’re  _ different _ .” Charles tells him “You stopped moping around, you looked lighter on your feet, and it’s because you found someone who makes you happy. I saw the two of you today, stuff like that doesn’t just happen between two random people.”

“You sayin’ we’re  _ made for each other,  _ how romantic of you, Charles.” Arthur chuckles at the absurdity of it, but it doesn’t stop his heart from beating double time.

“I’m saying that you didn’t just happen to meet Monroe, these things aren’t just coincidences.” Charles muses, and Arthur doesn’t have a witty remark this time.

They ride for a long while in compatible silence, having globe through the entirety to the satchel’s contents and deciding who would benefit from what and what they could bring back to camp to keep with the other medical supplies. Arthur kept one of the hand salves and one for sun protection along with a few health and energy tonics, deciding to leave the horse care for Kieran.

He was rolling in his saddle when he convinced Charles to take a whiff of the purple one from his first evening with Monroe. The man said the benefits outweighed the stench and kept the salve, Arthur agreeing and telling him he’d gotten one from Monroe a couple days ago. Charles also kept the honey and cactus salve, it was supposed to help with body aches and pains which he tested by rubbing into the muscle of his biceps where he’d been aching. The men were thoroughly impressed when Charles’ arms felt miles better less than half an hour later. 

“I’ll talk to Mary-Beth back at camp,” Charles says suddenly, as they’re approaching the main road towards the Braithwaite Manor “If we can get her on our side, Tilly and Karen will probably come too.”

Arthur nods “Abigail too, she deserves a chance to raise her boy better than this.”

“What about John?”

“John’s gotta figure this all out for himself,” Arthur sighs “It ain’t fair to none of ‘em to keep tryin’ to force him to be a father, probably why he ran off that time.”

Charles silently agrees, looking over the skyline where the sun’s began to lower and the sky’s turning darker by the moment, the two of them part ways after and Arthur trots Magnolia along. 

“It’s really coming together.” Arthur breathes, astonished at the feeling of hope seemingly soaking into his bones. 

They have a chance.

A  _ future. _

Arthur prays that everything works.

The Braithwaite Manor is every bit as imposing as the last time he was there, down to the same men guarding the gate with over eager trigger fingers and nasty sneers. He rides up next to a covered wagon that he finds is packed with the leftover shine from the saloon and swears harshly under his breath.

They were gonna burn down the fields as soon as Catherine Braithwaite agreed and, knowing Hosea, that meant  _ tonight.  _

He hurries inside the building, but unable to not admire its overdone splendors, ignoring the knot in his gut and the sweat of his palms as he’s taken into the parlor where Hosea is sitting with  _ Sean  _ and talking with Catherine. 

They were just  _ trying  _ to kill Arthur now.

Whatever bravado Hosea sells the woman Arthur’s heard a thousand times and isn’t bothered to have missed hearing it, he tries to be polite when he’s introduced but Mrs. Braithwaite isn’t one for pleasantries.

“So, this one, he as big and as dumb as he looks?”

Arthur ignores the twist in his gut, choosing instead to roll his broad shoulders and steel his jaw, hiding behind a mask of imposing force. 

“Well, he’s surely big,” Hosea tells her “But his intelligence is a matter of some conjecture.”

Arthur doesn’t like where this is going.

“Some say he  _ is  _ as dumb as he looks, but I think,” The man chimes, looking over at Arthur “Well, he’s not quite that dumb.”

He sneers at Hosea, it was a backhanded compliment to placate the old woman, yet again making light of Arthur with jabs at his appearance and smarts. They begin to talk money, Arthur wanting to ring all their necks and holler at Hosea for being such a damn fool and falling for this shit show they’ve got going on. He doesn’t, though, leaving with Sean when they’re waved off and swallowing down his anger like white hot steel. 

Immediately shutting down the notion of Sean driving helps stave his anger a bit, he knows the kid is going to want to chat his ear off but he can’t talk and drive at the same time. Arthur remembers a supply run a while back that ended with their wagon wrapped around a tree, Sean too distracted with his jabber mouthing to notice the stagecoach that pulled out in front of them.

It hadn’t been a good day.

So he drives to Caliga Hall and listens to Sean catch Arthur up to speed, learning that Hosea had spun the conversation so that Catherine believed burning the fields was her idea. Seems like it filled more than just her as well, the way Sean’s talking.

He lets Sean rant about the Braithwaites, chuckling when he calls the Matriarch a “snotty old bitch”

“Hosea really picked the right feller for tea at the manor, didn’t he?”

Sean begins to question Hosea at the comment, Arthur tries to defend the older man but it’s not like Sean’s wrong in what he’s saying. When he mentions the gold, and there being money at the end of all this mess, Arthur has to bite his tongue to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. Just because Sean doubted Hosea didn’t mean he felt the same about Dutch, the man was loyal and stubborn, saying anything would put everything at risk.

He comments here and there when he needs to, only half listening to Sean’s plan but getting the gist of it, too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Whoa! Hold up a second.” Sean suddenly shouts, jerking Arthur from his thoughts

“Are you not worried ‘bout them Grays, English?”

“Excuse me?” Is all Arthur can come up with

“ _ You not worried ‘bout them Grays? _ ” Sean emphasizes, though it’s not helpful in the slightest.

“In what sense?” Arthur tries to rack his brain as to why he’d be worried, but there’s so much going on lately Arthur can’t keep up with most of it.

“Well they knows ya.” Sean says and Arthur thinks maybe he is as dumb as he looks. 

Arthur ends up hiding in the back with no choice but to let Sean lead on this one, and prays that the kid can keep it together long enough to sneak them through.

The kid does beautifully, playing the guard for a fool the whole ride and wrapping the dumb bastard around his finger with no problem. Arthur decides he’ll have to stop being so hard on Sean, he’s better than they’ve given him credit for, and it’s easier than it’s been in a while to catch the drop on the guard. They stow away the body and stay hidden in the bard, passing the hours until the night is at its darkest by preparing the shine to burn the fields.

Burning the fields goes about as well as Arthur expected, meaning everything went up in flames and they had to shoot their way out-  _ again. _ Sean, of course, is a damn lunatic and refuses to leave without the payroll or until he’s killed nearly everyone on the property. 

How they make it out alive Arthur will never know. 

The ride back to camp is full of Sean’s crows of victory and the stench of burnt tobacco, and Arthur finds he’s able to use some of the salve Monroe has given him to sooth the more irritating burns he’d gotten. It’s blessedly cool against the scorched skin, making him sigh in relief as he treats his wounds.

“Whatcha got there?” Sean buts in, nosy as ever, dramatically leaning over his saddle to peer at Arthur’s hands. 

“None yer damn business, that’s what.” Arthur swats him away, trying to finish but Sean is as crafty as he is obnoxious and somehow ends up snatching the jar from the man.

“Aha!” He cheers “Now let's get a look see here…” He’s being over the top, aiming for a reaction as he reads the label with more flair than even Hosea.

“The hell is this goo, English? I can’t hardly read half these things!”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an idiot, now give it back, Sean.” Arthur grouches, swiping at the jar to retrieve it.

Sean just holds it far out in his opposite hand, grinning like the smug bastard he is “Now, now, Arthur,” He chides “It ain’t polite to be keepin’ things from yer family now.” 

He dips his finger into the salve and rubs it across a particularly angry looking burn on his knuckles, wincing some before blinking in astonishment.

“It don’t hurt no more, this some kinda witchcraft?” He’s gaping at the jar, as if the concept of well performing medicine was unheard of.

Then again, if all you’ve really got is some shoddy tonics and booze to patch you up, it probably is.

“No, now quit bein’ stupid.” Arthur sighs “It’s just some stuff I picked up in town, ain’t that great.”

“Ain’t that great?” Sean scoffs “English, this gunk is a damn miracle cure! If you ain’t gonna appreciate it, I sure as hell am.” 

He proceeds to lather the rest of his burns in the salve, working it into his hands and on the ones on his neck and face, Arthur lets him but is quick to successfully snatch the jar back once he’s finished. 

“That’s enough of your damn yammering, MacGuire, surprised you can even still move that jaw of yours after all the flappin’ it’s been doing.” Arthur jabs, chuckling when Sean tries to kick him off the saddle.

They make it back to camp just as the sun’s coming up, and Arthur misses the plush bed he’d spent the last two nights in as he looks over at his cot. He offers to put the horses up while Sean takes the gang’s share of the money to Dutch, making sure they have plenty of water and feed. 

Kieran’s there, and Arthur remembers he needed to talk to the man, so he flags him down with a wave and tries not to feel bad about the hunched way he scurries over.

“Y-yes, Mr. Morgan?” He stammers

“Call me Arthur, you get that horse medicine from Charles?” 

Kieran nods, becoming more enthusiastic “Yes sir! It’s mighty fine medicine too, I really appreciate it.”

Arthur waves him off “Ain’t nothing, consider it a thanks for helping that night.” 

“Right,” Kieran shuffles some “I took them to the train station, in Rhodes, managed to get them a few dollars and tickets to Valentine.”

Arthur sighs, knowing that it was a hard night for all of them and puts a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder “You did good, Duffy.”

The way Kieran lights up makes Arthur feel like the kid found gold rather than was given an awkward few words of encouragement “Th-thank you, Arthur! I best be goin’ now, though, lots of work to do.” And he scampers off back to work, leaving Arthur to chuckle at the air around him.

Arthur walks back to his cot, stretching the kinks from his back and neck before settling down with a heavy sigh. He looks over at his bedside table and sees his photograph of his mother, of Mary’s portrait, and the one of both him and Mary, he reaches over and grabs that one, inspecting the younger faces looking back at him. Arthur never liked taking pictures of himself, always feeling like he didn’t want to see his ugly mug anymore than he had to, but he’d done this for Mary when she’d begged and pleaded and batted her lashes prettily at him. 

He’d always been weak for Mary, even now, he supposed, thinking back to her and her brother Jamie.

The photo in his hand is devoid of emotion, even Mary’s partial smile seemed lacking next to a young Arthur’s stoic expression. He remembers when looking at it would fill him with a painful nostalgia, a reminder of everything he could never have and that he didn’t deserve it anyways. 

Now, though, Arthur doesn’t feel much of anything when he looks at the photograph.

He sighs, taking it and Mary’s portrait, and removes them from his table, putting them face down in his chest.

“Time to move on.” He tells himself, thinking of green eyes and peaches and how they make his pulse race, teasing laughter ringing in his ears and the phantom feeling of soft breathing against his collar. 

Feeling a little bit lighter, Arthur sets off to start on morning chores after changing from his scorched clothing. He misses the soft smell of powder and peaches that lingered from before, but he reminds himself that there’s important work to be done before he can go back.

Arthur hauls hay bales and chicken feed, refills the water basins, and chops firewood, he helps Charles with repairs around the camp while they discuss their plans.

“I talked to Abigail,” Charles murmurs as they’re rebuilding the hen house, Arthur having finally able to put the money into giving it a much needed upgrade “She’s agreed to help us, as long as we promise to keep Jack safe.”

Arthur swells with pride, Abigail Roberts is a formidable woman and he’s glad she’s on their side. 

“What about Mary-Beth?” He asks, hammering into the new frame 

“She’s going to talk to Karen and Tilly when Miss Grimshaw isn’t around.” Charles says, and Arthur nods.

Susan wouldn’t hesitate to confront them, seeing the disloyalty in their actions and would most likely be out for blood, just because her and Dutch moved on from one another didn’t mean the woman still wasn’t sweet on him. He sighs, unsure what to do when confrontation did break out, there was no point in lying to himself that it wouldn’t.

“We’ll make it, I trust you.” Charles says, gaze firm as he looks at Arthur, and Arthur feels himself becoming grounded in Charles, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt he trusts Charles as well.

They finish the hen house and head to Pearson’s wagon for water canteens, taking long and heavy drags to stave off the heat. Arthur feels good, the work he’s been doing the past few days giving his muscles a pleasant burn and leaves him content. 

“Arthur!”

The contentment begins to fade.

“Yeah, Dutch?”

The older man is walking their way, face stern, Arthur isn’t sure what’s got him upset but he imagines he’s about to find out.

“We need to talk about your recent behavior.” Dutch says when he’s close enough, making Arthur frown

“Recent behavior?” He echoes, looking at Charles who gives a shrug that says he’s just as lost.

“Yes,” Dutch sighs, irritation leaking through “Your behavior lately has been disappointing, to say the least.”

Arthur doesn’t ask, but that doesn’t stop the gnawing in his gut.

“You’ve been running off lately, don’t think no one noticed you weren’t here these last few days, and with nothing to show for it. Yet, here you stand idly around, as if there isn’t work to be done and mouths that need feeding.” The man rants, and Arthur feels like the ground’s gone out beneath his feet.

He’s not wrong, Arthur sighs heavily, shoulders dropping as he stands there unsure of what to say or what to do in response. Normally he’d chalk it up to just being so  _ busy  _ all the time, running jobs and bringing in game, but he wasn’t doing any of that this time. Arthur hadn’t meant to neglect the gang, he’d just wanted a little time for himself in the middle of all this mess.

People have stopped to see what the commotion is, it wasn’t often that Arthur was ever at the end of such a tongue lashing.

“You’ve been slacking off son,” Dutch tries to placate Arthur as if he were still a boy “I need you to do your part around here.”

_ You looked so sad, and I just knew I couldn’t. _

“I’m real sorry, Dutch.”

_ You’re wasted on fools, Mr. Morgan _

“I’ll work harder.”

_ And they don’t know how lucky they are _ .

“See that you do, son.” It’s a clear dismissal, even though Arthur has been at the wagon first. 

So Arthur walks away, hands balled and jaw clenched, an ugly heat blooming across his face and neck as he passes folks on the way to Magnolia. He doesn’t say a word as he mounts up and rides off, ignoring Charles’ offer to go with him and the looks John and Sadie give him.

He rides out far away from Clemens Point, waiting until he’s deep in the middle of nowhere to scream at the sky, and he lets all the molten rage that’s been building pour out of him with no one to see him crack under the heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when I’d JUST come back from a job and hunting trip, and after I dropped off my game and money in the ledger I went to get something to eat. Then Dutch came up and was all “YoU’rE nOt DoInG aNyTHING pUlL yOUr weIgHt!” And I. Lost. My. Mind.


	7. False Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Blessed are the merciful, For they shall obtain mercy.  
> Blessed are the pure in heart, For they shall see God.  
> Blessed are the peacemakers, For they shall be called sons of God.”  
> -Matthew 5:7-9 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really are the best, and you’re spoiling me rotten <3
> 
> This chapter is 99% angst, but I’m so excited for it because this is where we start getting off track with canon and get to what we’re all here for: The Life Arthur Completely and Totally Deserved™️
> 
> It’s pretty obvious what’s going to happen here, and I did use a lot of the actual mission dialogue, because the way that Dutch and Micah speak to Arthur during this mission vs how they treat him in the game was a huge inspiration for this fic as well. I kinda wanted an homage chapter to how this came to be.
> 
> As always, I’ve got no beta and all mistakes are my own! I doubt anyone would want that position anyways, I’ve been told I’m a hot mess to work with.
> 
> Enjoy!

The weeks after blur together between working jobs, hunting, camp chores, and  _ maybe  _ a few hours of rest here or there.

Arthur robs the bank in Valentine with Bill, Karen, and Lenny, escaping the law by the skin of their teeth but with tens of thousands of dollars. 

He gives his share to Abigail in the dead of night, telling her to save it for the future.

He runs a stagecoach job with Uncle, hitting Leviticus Cornwall once again, he also hits a few homesteads with Javier and Sean, and like before Arthur gives the money to Abigail to squirrel away. 

He visits Alden a handful of times, sneaking behind coaches like he’d done with Trelawney and robbing them blind. 

Arthur avoids Dutch the best he can, unable to handle another encounter like last time, only stopping when the man addresses him directly but he never stays too long. Charles keeps asking if he’s okay, and Arthur shrugs him off and assures him he’s fine every time, even if he knows the man doesn’t believe him for a second.

He’s roped into stealing Braithwaite horses with John and Javier, Mr. Gray seeking revenge for the saloon and his fields, they’re promised five thousand but make away with less than one and Arthur barely refrains from shooting someone. Including himself.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can take being played for a fool, but he has to try because he needs all the funds he can get.

Even if he hasn’t gone back to Monroe’s since he’d left with Charles, knowing that it’s been too long to be justifiable, and that he’s most likely ruined something before it had even had a chance to thrive. 

He can’t dwell on it, though, he’s got too much to do and not enough time.

He feels hollow, as if he’s been scooped empty of everything and left to operate as a husk of a man, but he doesn’t tell anyone and continues working. His body aches and his eyes strain from staying open for so long, there’s a sunkenness to his face that hollows his cheeks and eyes and it yellows his skin.

Abigail and the other girls have tried talking to him, hoping to coax him into taking a moment to rest over a game of dominoes or just a friendly chat by the campfire. He doesn’t, always coming up with an excuse to leave after a minute or so and running off to keep busy. 

Surprisingly, well, not really, it’s Sadie who consistently calls Arthur out on his bullshit whenever she catches him.

“The hell you cuttin’ so much wood for? It’s hot as hell out here, we could go for  _ less  _ fire!”

“How many more times you gonna ‘ _ fix’  _ that wagon before you just rebuild the damn thing?”

“Christ, Arthur, how many coaches you rob to get  _ that _ ?”

“No,  _ I’m  _ going with Javier this time, you go sit your ass down before you keel over.”

“Leave some damn work for the rest of us! I ain’t ever seen Bill or Uncle this lazy, and  _ that’s  _ saying something!”

She’s standing over Arthur as she hollers the last one, hands firm on her hips as she glares daggers at the man unpacking the goods he’d gotten from taking out a group of Raiders. He’d sold half of it at the Fence in Rhodes, giving the money to Abigail without a word before taking the rest to camp. Arthur isn’t sure what to say to her, but he offers up a gruff apology that she waves off like a gnat.

“Don’t give me that,” She grouses “You’re more useful  _ alive _ , you know? Now do us all a favor and  _ go take a nap, dammit _ !”

Mrs. Adler is as rough as they come, but she’s also one of the most genuine people Arthur knows so, when he sees the concern alongside the irritation etched across her face, he knows she’s just looking out for him. Arthur looks down at the items in his hands, Guarma rum, a couple gold nuggets, and a stack of bills, and sighs heavily as he thinks back to Dutch’s words them weeks ago. He thinks of Micah and Bill sniggering begins his back for  _ days  _ afterwards, and how Miss Grimshaw scolds him for not waking up early enough day after day. Dutch watches Arthur like a hawk, now, especially with Micah whispering in his ear constantly about God knows what, like he’s waiting for something to happen.

Arthur has no clue what it might be. 

He doesn’t know what everyone wants from him, he’s doing his best-  _ isn’t he?  _

“Thank you for the concern, Mrs. Adler,” He tells her softly “But now ain’t the time for me to be idlin’ by.”

Arthur leaves the items in the ledger before heading back out, ignoring Sadie calling his name. He decides he’ll go back out hunting, having found a good spot to hunt turkey not too far out, there was always a need for flight feathers to make arrows and for Pearson’s crafting table. 

However, he’s stopped by Lenny saying that Dutch was asking for him and he makes his way back through camp. Unfortunately, Micah is sitting at the front of the man’s tent as if waiting for Arthur himself. 

“Micah.” He says as flat as possible, not in the mode for the man’s antics.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called-”

Arthur immediately turns to Molly as she walks by, already fed up with this conversation “Hey, Molly, have you seen Dutch?” He asks, and she waves him off as if she can’t be bothered with trivial matters.

“Well, however it goes.” Micah finishes with a sigh, Arthur turning back to him with a sigh.

“I’m not sure that line of thought serves you or me very well.” He comments

“Well, that’s because, cowpoke,” Arthur wants to choke the man for the nickname “You are a man of profoundly limited intelligence.”

“No doubt.” Arthur deadpans, not giving Micah the satisfaction of showing his irritation.

Seeing that Arthur won’t rise to the bait, Micah launches into whatever it is with Pearson that he’s been sitting there waiting to talk about when Dutch walks up to them.

“Gentlemen.” He says, short and to the point.

“Dutch,” Micah calls as Pearson makes his way to them “You tell him, fat man.”

Pearson does, with a healthy dose of his usual exaggeration, but the point’s made: a parley with Colm O’Driscoll.

Arthur didn’t need to hear Hosea call out to them over his newspaper to know that it was a trap, but he does point out they’ll probably get shot.

“That’s why you’ll be protecting us.” Micah argues, and Arthur wants to just shoot himself to get out of this mess.

He doesn’t, and somehow Micah manages to convince Dutch to go through with this shitstorm of a plan. So, him, Dutch, and Micah ride out to the parley point, Arthur shaking his fist at Pearson as he goes. 

“You know, I’ve been fightin’ Colm for so long now, I can’t remember a time it was any different.” Dutch muses as they ride out, most likely trying to remember a time when Annabelle was still alive and Colm wasn’t as big a bastard as he is now.

“You’re still fightin’ him now,” Arthur reminds him, thinking of stolen scores and ambushes “Make no mistake on that.”

Micah groans dramatically ahead of them “Here he goes,  _ Doubting Thomas _ , is there any plan you  _ ain’t  _ sour on?”

Arthur sighs, admitting he’s nervous about the whole thing as they ride, the feeling of unease settling heavy in his gut. There’s no way this isn’t a trap, and Arthur’s getting a little tired of needless shootouts with other gangs.

A man can only take so many bullets before one kills him.

“Look, you ain’t even going to be the one in danger,” Micah sighs, patronizing “We’ll get on over there… Find a nice little perch for you to settle in to. You still got that rifle, don’t you?”

Arthur rolls his eyes “Yeah, yeah.”

“Then me and Dutch walk right into the lion’s den, with you to cover us.”

Arthur shuffles some in his saddle, glancing down at his Rolling Block rifle and remembering when this was a normal thing for him to do. Countless jobs where he ran cover for Dutch and the others, if there was one thing Arthur was confident in- it was his efficiency with a gun. 

He can’t help but think back to Monroe, wondering what she’s doing right now as he’s running out on a fool’s errand, did she even care he was gone at this point? Missing Monroe feels like missing a vital part of himself that he hadn’t realized he’d needed until it was too late, and he didn’t know if there was a way to recover from something like that. Maybe she’d see him, maybe he’d try after this mess with Colm was over, but what about Dutch? Would he come after Arthur for being gone again? 

He wasn’t sure he could risk it, not now when he was still building the foundation they needed to step out on and away from all this mess.

“Okay,” He decides “Just keep calm. Unless I give you a reason not to.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Dutch chimes in from Arthur’s flank “We got you.”

Arthur doesn’t like how thick and put on the words sound, like a poor imposter of the man he grew up with, but there’s also a part of Arthur that preens under the words. The part of him that’s still loyal to a fault, who still believes in the speeches and the bravado, the part of him who still sees Dutch as his father.

“I will do my best.” He tries to sound confident, but he sounds stilted and practiced, luckily no one else seems to notice.

“Oh, my dear and trusted friend, with you watching over me- I would walk into Hell itself.” Dutch declares, and Arthur squirms under the words and their implications. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been back working day in and day out, or if he’d just managed to catch Dutch on a good day, but Arthur wasn’t sure where all this was coming from.

Or if he even believed it.

“As would I.” Micah tacks on, along with some other nonsense about  _ caring too much _ that’s got Dutch belting his usual inspirational patriotism. It’s all such obvious horse shit it assures Arthur he’s not going completely crazy.

It’s right about then they spot the O’Driscolls at the top of the cliff up ahead, making the unease in Arthur’s gut churn. The others brush them off easily enough, and Arthur is delegated to an overhang a little ways off. Arthur doesn’t ask if he’s supposed to be an unknown presence at this get together, seeing how at least five O’Driscolls saw him riding with Dutch and Micah and most likely have already reported back to Colm. He’s not in the mood to be cast as a doubter much more today, however, he does tell them to meet back up at the fork in the road when this is all finished.

The spots a nice one, giving Arthur plenty of room to keep Magnolia close by and sprawl across the grass easily with his scope. There’s no point in trying to guess what they’re saying, Arthur doesn’t have a talent for reading lips, all he has to do is watch for the first sign of a fight and shoot first

Easy.

Arthur just wishes the churning in his gut agreed, everything about this doesn’t sit right with him, but there was no point in dwelling on it now he guessed. Everything seemed fine through the scope, Colm’s still ugly a bastard as ever, ain’t no one reaching for their guns.

He sighs from his perch, letting his mind wander while he watched the  _ “parley”  _ below.

It’s been a long past few weeks, Arthur supposes, the days blur together a bit here and there, though he figures that doesn’t really matter. His nightmares have gotten worse, now, not only is he woken by visions of dead family and swinging feet, he’s also haunted by the prospect of having completely lost Monroe. Dreaming that he’ll show back up one day and she’s moved on, he wouldn’t blame her for not waiting for him, finding someone better than a washed up old criminal who left her without a word. He knows Charles is disappointed in him, having fallen right back into his old ways of being completely at the mercy of Dutch’s whims. Still clinging to the need for validation from the man, even if it costs him. It didn’t matter what he told himself, the money he gave to Abigail wasn’t going to do squat if he couldn’t commit to helping everyone get out of this mess safely.

Magnolia whinnies behind him, stomping harshly like she does when she’s spooked, and Arthur turns to check on her. Only he can’t see Magnolia past the two O’Driscolls standing above him, snickering with rifles in their hands.

The last thing Arthur recalls before the painful recoil of a rifle butting into his skull is how he should have realized there weren’t as many men standing with Colm as he’d seen earlier.

_ Dumbass. _

Arthur wakes up slow and pained, his vision is stained red from the blood dripping into his eyes, but he can barely make out the running water of a river beneath him. There’s voices, but his head throbs so hard it drowns them out and makes him sick to his stomach.

He closes his eyes and slips back into darkness. 

The second time he wakes up, he’s on the ground, his head is pounding but he blessedly isn’t nauseous. He can see the trees above him and there’s a rock digging into his side, the voices from earlier are louder now, and Arthur can hear the O’Driscolls bragging about his capture and Colm’s plans.

Arthur tries to be as quiet as possible when he rolls shakily to his feet, crouched low to the ground to keep hidden but also because he can’t stand any higher without the world spinning. They think that Dutch would bring the whole gang to save Arthur, and as much as Arthur wants to believe that’s true, he’s not so sure any more. Either way he’s sure they’re going to beat him to Hell and back for any information they think they could pry from him, but Arthur’s never been one to talk.

He’s creeping away as fast as he can, flinching at the crunch of leaves and sticks beneath his boots, he’s got no clue where Magnolia is, but he can always call for her when he’s a safe ways away.

_ “He’s trying to escape!” _

Aw, hell.

Arthur gives up sneaking and attempts to run, but he’s disoriented and everything is wobbly, they catch up to him easily and knock him back down. They’re laughing at him, asking if he’s dead as he lays there and wheezes through the pain that is a boot to the ribs.

“Not yet.” He manages weakly, but still triumphantly- even as one of them unloads buckshot into his shoulder.

Everything seems to come and go after that, the pain in his shoulder is a fire that eats through him and keeps him from passing out longer than an hour or so at a time. At some point they’d stripped him down to his union suit, then beat him and strung him up like a pig in a butcher shop. He’s not sure if it’s the basement or his blackened shoulder that stinks like rot, but it’s all he can do not to heave his guts up. The basement isn’t anything noteworthy, doesn’t give Arthur a clue to where he is, all he knows is that it’s an O’Driscoll hideout and Colm himself is standing before him.

Colm’s just as ugly up close and upside down as he was through the scope, still an arrogant ass too, his voice grating what little nerves Arthur’s got left as he gloats. He brags about the deal he made with the law for Dutch, tries to convince Arthur to swap sides before it’s too late, but Arthur tells him he’s got it all wrong and the law won’t just take Dutch and leave Colm alone. He won’t tell Colm anything about Dutch or the gang, after so many months with Micah Arthur’s gotten good at ignoring rats.

He takes the beatings to his ribs, bracing himself against the jabs from the handle of Colm’s pistol, he may wheeze and groan and choke on the pain, but he doesn’t say anything.

Not when Colm lets the others beat him, not when they twist the barrels of their guns into the oozing mess of his shoulder, or when he’s kicked in the teeth and bashed in the knees. He screams, because he’s human and it  _ hurts _ , he curses and swears and promises death, but he doesn’t beg. 

Arthur’s not sure how long he’s down there, not long enough to die at least, there’s at least twice he can remember that they let him down to let the blood flow back through the rest of him and to take a piss. Not like  _ that  _ isn’t humiliating. 

They never leave him alone for long, there’s almost always someone coming down to either make sure he’s still alive or to beat on him for fun.

_ “How much longer are we gonna have to wait?” _

Arthur’s woken by voices, heavy footsteps creaking the wooden stairs as the swing of two lanterns lightening the dark room.

_ “Until Van der Linde comes for this guy, Colm already explained it, you moron.” _

_ “Just sayin’, it’s been a while and they still ain’t shown up.” _

_ “Shut up and leave the thinking to your betters.” _

The two men stop right in front of Arthur, examining him for a moment before one of them hauls off and kicks him in his shoulder. He shouts pathetically, voice cracked and horse, he tastes like stale blood and the smell from his shoulder is putrid, from the corner of his eye he can see it oozing yellow. 

“He’s alive.” The men laugh, then amble back up the stairs. 

Arthur’s left wheezing, arm dangling useless, but the room isn’t plunged into darkness when they shut the basement doors. 

One of them left their lantern, Arthur can see it from where he’s hanging, it’s on the table next to a metal pick and Arthur would crow in relief if he could. 

As painful as it is, Arthur forces himself to swing his arms and torso, gaining momentum until he can reach out and grab the pick. He groans at the pain, but doesn’t stop, thinking about the people at camp and the woman he owes an apology to.

It doesn’t matter what it takes, he has to get back.

If swinging for the pick is painful, then reaching up and grabbing hold of the chains for leverage with his bad arm to pick the shackle’s lock is agony. He cries out between clenched teeth, and nearly passes back out when he thuds to the ground.

Arthur stumbles to his feet when the basement opens again, sooner than expected, and he falls behind a wall to hide. There’s only one set of footsteps, a low voice muttering as they climb down the stairs. Arthur waits until the man passes him unawares, noticing the lack of a prisoner, and lounges forward. He stabs the man through the neck with the pick, ignoring the screaming pain of his shoulder as he muffles the man until he’s dead in Arthur’s arms.

Arthur drops the man, but steals his hunting knife until he can find his own weapons, before walking to the lantern on the table. There’s an until candle, partially melted in its holder, and it gives Arthur an idea. He lights the candle using the lantern, Monroe calling him an idiot in his head, and shoves the flame directly into the crater of his shoulder.

Yeah, he’s an idiot, that  _ hurt _ . 

It takes a minute for the spots to clear from his vision and the ringing in his ears to stop, and he’s honestly surprised his shouting didn’t alert anyone.

He’s alarmingly lucky today, that, or his bad luck finally just reached its limit. Either works.

Making his way upstairs, Arthur finds that one of the basement doors was left cracked open just enough for him to squeeze through with minimal noise. He takes cover behind a shed and peeks out at his surroundings, he spots at least eight O’Driscolls- but no Colm. What’s even better is he finds his guns and belts stashed in the next building over, carelessly strewn across a hay bale. There’s only one man at that building, only half paying attention from the looks of it, and he doesn’t notice Arthur until the last second. He can only get out half a shout before Arthur’s gutting the man, but it’s enough to alert the others.

No problem, isn’t like Arthur’s no good at killing O’Driscolls.

With his guns back, he feels unstoppable despite the pain and limited mobility in his right arm and how his vision is blurring at the edges. He rides the adrenaline hard and fast, shooting men down without a second thought as he calls for Magnolia, knowing any step could be his last.

Thoughts motivate him, though, of Charles and Hosea, Jack’s excitement, he thinks of Karen’s snorting laughter as he shoots, and Sean’s obnoxious behavior.

He thinks of strawberry hair and peaches, of a woman larger than life who  _ wants  _ him for all he is, he thinks of the salve jars and tonics in his satchel. The same fingers that made those intertwining gently with his own.

Magnolia is on the edge of the clearing, tied to a tree and kicking like mad, she’s neighing loud and Arthur yanks the bridge so hard off the tree the leather snaps. Doesn’t matter though, what matters is hauling himself into her back with what little strength he has left before she bolts off into the woods. O’Driscolls give chase, but Magnolia is one of the fastest steeds Arthur’s ever seen and they trickle off before long. 

“Come on, girl… get me.. home...” He slurs, slumping heavily against her neck, adrenaline fading fast as the world around him fades once more.

_ He dreams of wide open fields littered with wildflowers, the sun heavy in the sky painting the world gold, there’s a large stag grazing in the distance. Arthur watches in rapture as the animal lifts its head to look his way, eyes full of intelligence as it stares him down, it’s hide is thick but littered with scars from failed hunts. It takes a few steps towards him before stopping, ears flicking at a noise in the woods nearby, and Arthur looks towards the sound as well.  _

_ A doe emerges from the tree line, sleek with large curious eyes, she looks at him before continuing over to the stag. He notices she has a few scars as well, but hers are concentrated, as if everyone only ever tried to shoot her through the heart. Arthur’s never seen a doe that wasn’t skittish, yet this one acted like he was just another part of the clearing. She settles into a particularly thick patch of grass, soaking in the warm sun underneath the watchful gaze of the other- _

_ “.. ur?... Arthur!” _

Arthur wakes to a familiar voice close by, but he can’t move enough to acknowledge it, and there are gentle hands brushing across his skin. It’s a delicate touch, something Arthur hadn’t realized he’d missed all these weeks until now, and he tries his best to lean into it. 

“ _ You’re going to be okay, now, I’ve got you. _ ”

He falls back under to that promise.

The next time he’s woken by the pain in his shoulder screaming, or was it him actually screaming? He doesn’t know, but he just wants it to  _ stop _ .

There’s talking going on next to him, it takes a moment for him to realize he’s being spoken to, and whoever it is is supporting his weight.

_ “I’m sorry, we’re almost there- just- King,  _ move _! Arthur can you walk at all? Just move your feet some?”  _

He tries to comply, opening one eye to peer down at his feet, they’re bare and bloody but he can move them. He watches grass turn to porch steps then hardwood, and there’s howling and whining going on around him and. He has to close his eyes when his head starts to throb.

When he’s laid down on the bed, he’s pretty sure he weeps in relief, his body going lax as he manages to croak out a few words.

“I didn’t tell ‘em nothin’, Dutch..”

There’s that gentle hand across his head, blessedly cool against his clammy skin, he basks in the touch. 

“ _ You did good,”  _ He’s told “ _ Now get some rest.” _

He does. 

Arthur doesn’t dream anymore as much as he remembers, whether it’s snippets of Colm sneering above him as he beats Arthur or different faces of the gang looking at him in worry these past few weeks. It’s all different, but there is one consistency:

Monroe.

He sees her constantly, her voice gentle and broken when she speaks, and she feels  _ so close  _ it tears at Arthur’s heart. If he’s not trying to convince Dutch he’d never sell the man out, that Colm had been planning this to hand them over to the law, he’s apologizing to Monroe for being a fool and begging her to stay with him.

Sometimes, he even thinks he catches the faintest smell of peaches and it makes his hollowed out chest swell.

Arthur only remembers waking up when his shoulder flairs in agony, forcing him to jerk and shout and try to escape the fire licking across his shoulder and chest. Each time he stops, though, when he faintly hears sobbing beneath the ringing in his ears, and a small, fragile, voice trying to calm him.

“ _ It- it’s okay, I’ve got you, just a little more.” _

“Please,  _ Arthur _ ,  _ I’m almost done.” _

_ “I’m sorry this hurts, but I promise it’s worth it.” _

_ “You’re so strong, Arthur, I just wish you could see what I do.” _

It’s selfish, and extremely foolish, but he allows himself to believe it’s Monroe he hears, her voice fitting the words so perfectly he can’t help himself. He misses her something fierce, and it’s only made worse by the pain in his body, she deserves better than him- but he prays,  _ God he prays _ , that she waits for him. It’ll be just a little longer, as soon as he’s well enough to get out of bed there won’t be anything that could stop him from going back to her.

He’ll give her everything she deserves, anything she could ask in recompense for his absence he’d give, it didn’t matter what she required of him, as long as she’d just give him another chance.

Arthur wants to hold her, to feel her curve against him just right like she seems to do every time, he wants to feel how her hair curls around his fingers when he touches it. He wants to breathe in her summertime scent until he’s drunk off it, to feel the tender press of her lips against his palm, cheek, temple.

He wants to know what it would be like to kiss her like he means it, to pour his heart and soul into whatever it is they are.

It won’t happen, he knows, because he’s done this before, unable to give up a life of stealing, killing, and running. It’s not a good life, it wouldn’t do anything but hurt Monroe like it had Mary and Eliza, she’s better off with someone else who would actually give her the time and effort she deserves.

It won’t, but he wishes it would. 

Arthur doesn’t get that fairytale ending, he knows that, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop working towards a better future for everyone else. He may work himself to death, might die fighting for his family, but at least he’ll go knowing they’re alright.

Charles can just as easily protect them, John too, if he gets his head on straight, and it’s not like the others can’t defend themselves if need be. Not to mention Mrs. Adler, a force to be reckoned with all on her own, a woman who deserves better than to live a life of anger and revenge. They can all be better than Arthur, live a better life, find their own happiness in the life they  _ chose  _ to live, not this one that’s brought about by hardship and death.

Dutch won’t let them go, Arthur knows it’ll be ugly once he realizes what’s going on, he’ll see it as the ultimate betrayal. He’d let the older man take it from his flesh, pound per pound until he’s satisfied or Arthur’s dead for his disloyalties- it’s standard punishment for traitors, no matter who you run with or where you’re from.

He wonders when he became fine with the prospect that this life was going to be the death of him.

There’s a lot of back and forth, he’s either freezing cold or he finds himself suffocating in blistering heat, sometimes his shoulder hurts so back he’s howling and clawing, but other times it’s blissfully numb. He begs for Dutch to believe him, to  _ trust him _ , and he promises he’ll work harder as soon as he’s able. He tells the older man that he’s going to get everyone killed chasing a fool’s dream, that no one wants their kind and that they never have. Arthur tells Dutch he should’ve never doubted if the man would come for him, he apologizes for his lack of faith until he can’t.

There’s a broken sigh somewhere above him.

It feels like a small eternity and a blink of an eye by the time Arthur is able to wake up fully cognizant, opening sore eyes to see a wood ceiling he recognizes from somewhere that isn’t camp. 

_ “Am I still dreamin’?”  _

He shuffles with a heavy groan, realizing his right arm is bound to his bare chest and wrapped tight in clean bandages, and uses his left arm to shakily prop himself upright. He looks down and the fur blankets piled around his waist, then around at the sparse but comfortable walls around him. Something unknown coils behind his ribs, something that makes him squirm uncomfortably but excited, and there’s a movement below that catches his attention. 

Looking down, he finds King curled up in front of the bed but looking up at him, his thick tail thudding loudly against the floor while his tongue rolls out in a sloppy dog grin. Arthur blinks at the dog until he can move his mouth, surprised to find he doesn’t have age old rank breath.

“You think you could fill me in?” He asks King, who, at his words, hops to his bed and bounds into the bed as if he weren’t a hundred eighty pound animal. 

He’s surprisingly gentle in his enthusiasm, avoiding stepping on Arthur as he invades the man’s space to lick across his face and whine. Arthur can’t help his startled laughter as he tries to defend himself one handed, the jostling hurts some, but the pain is nothing like he’s used to.

“Down boy, easy!” He chuckles and King immediately obeys, laying on his belly across Arthur’s legs, tail swishing in the air as he pants excitedly. Arthur can’t resist petting between King’s ears, his thick brown fur is soft to the touch, the dog soaking it all in like the rotten beast he is. 

He remembers his dog, Copper, how he’d always loved to play and get pats on his belly when they’d both run themselves ragged out in the summer sun. 

The door to the guest room opens quietly, both Arthur and King turning to see Bear nosing the door the rest of the way to dart in the room and make himself at home on the bed as well. He’s tucked between Arthur’s calf and the wall, head resting on the man’s thigh as he looks up at him pitifully. So Arthur indulges him in a good scratch behind his floppy ears, his hind paw thudding loud against the mattress.

Footsteps get closer, the sound of bare feet on wood making Arthur’s heart clench painfully, followed by soft clinks and thumps of items being placed on the bedside table. He doesn’t know if he can look, if he can face the disappointment or the rejection that’s likely to come. Just because she saved him doesn’t mean anything, she’s a good woman, and she would’ve helped anyone who needed her regardless of their standing. Arthur can’t look at her knowing that this’ll be the last time, and that her eyes won’t be as warm as they were, that she won’t smile at him in the way that makes his world a little brighter each time.

There’s the scrape of a chair being pulled by the bed, then the creaky shift of someone sitting in it, followed by a wet sounding breath.

“Arthur.”

He crumbles, turning and looking at Monroe despite how scared he is, he could never deny her anything- even now.

Arthur sees green eyes glassy with unshed tears, rounded cheeks and a button nose that are a blotchy red, and full lips that are curled into a small smile that breaks Arthur’s heart differently than he expected. His breath catches in his throat and his eyes sting, he can feel the salty brine building in the corners, all he can do is hold his good arm out in desperation. He watches as her smile blooms into something Arthur will always remember as rivaling the sun, she lets him pull her close despite the pain that flares and the awkward position of having one arm tied to your chest. 

He feels her tears slide against his skin, how her body shakes as she sobs against him, he feels her lips move against his collar as she curses him for being gone- for finding him like  _ this _ . Arthur takes it all, pressing his face into her wild hair and breathing in, trying not to let his own tears fall. 

“Don’t you  _ ever  _ leave me like that again, Arthur.” She tells him, anger and fear and pain thick in her voice, looking back up at him with tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes. 

Arthur reaches out and cups her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear, he wishes he could do more but his body is reaching its limit on how much jostling it can take before he starts to really hurt. 

He’s okay with this, though, just having her despite everything that’s happened.

“I’m so sorry, Monroe,” He breathes, raw and ragged “I- I messed up, and I can’t promise I won’t keep being’ a fool, but I promise that I  _ will always  _ come back to you. No matter what.”

Monroe hiccups, swallowing back tears “Why can’t you just  _ stay  _ with me?” She pleads, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

Arthur breathes hard through his nose to keep himself together, before bringing her hand close and pressing his lips to her curled fingers.

“I can’t, not yet, I’ve got more folks who need me, and I need them- we’re family.” He looks up to meet her eyes “After that, though, when I  _ know  _ they’re safe, we can have that fresh start. You and me.”

Her smile turns soft and tender, and one last tear slips down her cheek as she nods and murmurs:

“You really are the best man I know, Arthur Morgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My 4 am dilemma:
> 
> Me: This is coming along so nicely, I love these two <3  
> Also me: That’s cool, but when are they gonna frick?  
> Also also me: I wasn’t gonna ask but.. yeah, when?  
> Me: um?? no??? This is pure and wholesome content????  
> Also also me: So, chapter 12?  
> Also me: Probably   
> Me: ???N????O???


	8. Healing Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Arthur’s capture, but told by Monroe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, I’m so excited for this chapter! I’ve been dying to get to this part so I could write from Monroe’s POV, she’s just so much fun to write!
> 
> Unfortunately, it was another case of the chapter not wanting to end and if I didn’t just cut it off it’d just drag on forever.
> 
> I really hope you love this as much as I do, and thank you so much for all your support throughout this fic! 
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are my own, as always.
> 
> Also! Trigger warning for reference to domestic abuse and sexual assault.

Monroe presses the heels of her hands hard against her eyes, breathing out loudly as she paces the room, trying to figure out what just happened.

Seriously,  _ what just happened? _

Everything was  _ great _ , it wasn’t perfect, Monroe doesn’t believe in perfection anyhow, so  _ how did this happen _ ?

She’s aware she’s verging on the edge of panic, but it’s justified seeing how Arthur is  _ half dead _ in her guest room at the moment.

The man’s been gone for  _ weeks _ , left with Charles and just never came back, she hasn’t seen any trace of him anywhere she’s been. 

Until last night.

Last night when she was riding home from a delivery to Emerald Ranch, having just gotten off the train at Riggs Station and saddled up on Galahad for the rest of the trip. It had been a lovely evening, the stars were beautiful, and it was a welcome distraction from the gaping hole where Monroe’s heart used to be. All this time, she thought she would’ve been okay by now, yet still every day she seems to find a new reason to miss him.

She’s not too proud to admit she cried over coffee mugs the other morning, and at dinner a few times… And almost every morning he didn’t ride up to her door-

Anyways! The point is, sure, she’s sad over the ridiculous cowboy that she’d met while he was trying to collect a debt.

Arthur was  _ more  _ than that, though, Monroe found out. 

He was kind and charming and just as sad and broken as she was, even if it was for different reasons. He was the kind of man who carried the world on his shoulders, but would never let you see how heavy it was. He was unsure of himself, even far his age, couldn’t take a compliment to save his life, and didn’t judge people for being different.

Arthur was a wonderful man, Monroe felt so lucky to have met him, and she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint when she’d started to care for him  _ more  _ than what was appropriate. 

So when Arthur told her they had a  _ chance,  _ it was everything Monroe could have ever wanted in all twenty three years of her life, but then he just  _ vanished.  _

Crushing was an understatement.

Monroe kept living, though, she couldn’t just stop because of a little heartbreak, she had a life before Arthur Morgan and she would have one after. 

She sighs against the evening breeze, idly stroking Galahad’s mane as they ride, trying to keep what little of her heart that was still whole from breaking. 

That’s when she notices a horse up the ways some, and it’s not just any horse:

It’s Magnolia May, and-

“Arthur?” She calls out, trying to get his attention as she jumps from Galahad’s saddle, approaching Magnolia as quickly as possible.

The poor Arabian is snorting and panting heavily, when Monroe comes closer she can see the blood and dirt smeared across her coat.

“Arthur!” She cries, seeing the state of the man.

He’s unconscious and bleeding sluggishly from his right shoulder, she can’t see the wound, but she can smell it, the stench it gives is from a serious infection. 

She has to help him, if not, he’ll be dead in a day or two.

It’s hard but she manages to get a hold of Magnolia and only gets her foot stomped twice, she’s protective, Monroe can respect that.

She tethers her reins to Galahad’s before going back to the man sprawled across her back, how he’s managed to stay on without a saddle is a feat of its own. She’s got rope on her saddle, and she uses it to secure Arthur to his horse until they can get home.

Monroe looks at the man with a heavy heart, suddenly guilty for her anger if  _ this  _ is what he was going through while away, she can’t help but reach out and gently caress his face.

She feels tears welling up when he leans into her touch, as if no one’s been kind to him while he’s been gone.

“You’re going to be okay now,” She promises “I’ve got you.”

_ ‘And I won’t let you go again, not if this is what happens.’ _

The ride home is excruciatingly slow, Monroe afraid of jostling Arthur too much and Magnolia too frightened to do anything more than walk. It makes Monroe paranoid, as if whoever had hurt Arthur was lurking in the woods ready to ambush them to finish the job. Monroe isn’t helpless, but she also isn’t confident in her abilities against whoever did  _ this _ . 

She can’t even think properly, eyes constantly darting to scan the woods around them, she’s surprised the scream she let out when a coyote ran past didn’t send Magnolia into a fit.

Monroe regrets not bringing one of the dogs with her, but she also isn’t going to lose any more chickens to another fox- especially not any of the babies she just hatched out.

So she deals with the long, lonely, and terrifying ride back home.

Getting him inside was a whole different dilemma, seeing how he’s over six feet and two hundred plus pounds of muscle and manliness and Monroe…  _ isn’t. _

She’s only short in comparison to Mountain Man Morgan over here- she’s average height, and soft from genetics and liking bread. A lot.

Still, she’s got  _ some  _ muscle which she uses to roll him off his horse and support him over her shoulders with his good arm. It still hurts, seeing how he suddenly cries out loud and pained.

Oh, God,  _ she’s _ going to be the one who kills him.

_ “ _ I’m sorry, we’re almost there- just-” She’s trying, but Arthur’s feet are dragging and he’s all dead weight. Not to mention King and Bear are now trying to jump all over them to make sure they’re okay. She really appreciates that they know that blood means pain and that they care, just, now’s not the time.

“King, move!” She scolds, pointing to the dog house with her free arm, Arthur groaning in his ear, hopefully awake enough to understand her. “Arthur can you walk at all? Just move your feet some?” __

The man walks, it’s uncoordinated and Monroe nearly drops them both twice up the porch stairs, but they make it. She’s able to lay him in bed with little difficulties, and she watches the man practically turn to jelly once he’s fully pressed into the mattress. Cleaning him is first, she needs to strip him down and rid him of the grime and blood that’s seemingly caked everywhere before she can do anything about the weeping mess that is his shoulder, and she’s walking out the door when Arthur croaks out:

“I didn’t tell ‘em nothin’, Dutch..”

Dutch, as in Dutch Van der Linde? Monroe rememberers Arthur telling her he ran with him, but Monroe only really knows about the infamous gang leader from what he brother’s told her. She has a feeling he played the outlaw up to scare Monroe into leaving the south after Lawrence, but you also don’t get a ten thousand dollar bounty by being a petty criminal.

Arthur must have been captured and tortured for information, and as awful as it is to imagine, Monroe feels a surge of pride at Arthur’s strength and loyalty. Even if she’s not a fan of whom it’s wasted on.

That’s not important, though, what matters is Arthur needs her, lucid or not, and she’s going to make sure he gets better.

She sits on the edge of the bed, gingerly brushing her fingers through sweat dampened and blood matted hair, letting herself cradle his head as he seeks out her hand. 

Both his eyes are black, though, thankfully, they’re not swollen, the bruising going across his nose as well that’s caked in dry blood. She sees a gash across his nose, his bottom lip is split almost to his chin, and he’s got multiple cuts in his scalp, all of it makes Monroe tremble.

“You did good,” She murmurs softly, stroking his cheek “Now get some rest.”

He slumps into the bed, breathing evening out as if he’d been waiting for those words.

Which brings her to where she is now, standing at the edge of the bed in a state of mild panic, staring at the man she has to now  _ undress  _ to treat his wounds. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about that before, only it was never in this context, because she wasn’t prepared when he’d walked into her house that evening half naked and sweat slick, blood streaked up his forearms from skinning animals. 

No one could blame her for thinking about it, the man is unfairly attractive.

Though, when push comes to shove, Monroe’s never been good at more…  _ mature  _ physical intimacy, in her daydreams or otherwise-

She’s being ridiculous about this, this isn’t about her or  _ that _ , this is about Arthur being hurt and needing serious help. She’s not a child, she hasn’t been for a long time, and it’s time to start acting like it.

So she steels herself and begins the process, trying as gently as possible to peel the ruined cotton from his skin before giving up and grabbing a pair of shears. It’s got a giant hole in it, along with several smaller ones and stains that you couldn’t beat out with a rock- he’s not going to miss this union suit. The shoulder is, predictably, the worst part, she has to pick cotton from flesh and it’s awful. Every tug opens a part of the wound that immediately oozes yellow and red, filling the room with a rotten stench that Monroe gags on.

Arthur flinches in his sleep the entire time, but thankfully never wakes up. He’s talking, though, it’s slurred together and quiet, sometimes Monroe can make out a few words like her name,  _ “Dutch” “I’m sorry”  _ and  _ “Please” _ . Monroe isn’t sure what to say, so she lets the man dream, even as she wishes she’d never had to hear him sound so broken.

It takes a small eternity to get the man free of the soiled fabric, she’s going to burn it she decides, and she’s able to see the rest of Arthur’s damage.

The area around his shoulder, from his collar bone almost to his elbow, is inflamed an angry red and severely swollen, and upon closer inspection Monroe realizes the very core of the wound is carterized and filled with…  _ candle wax _ ? There’s also stray pieces of metal, Monroe would have to guess it’s all from a large bullet, most likely buckshot.

She’s not too sure how to feel about that.

There’s blackened bruises across the entirety of his torso that concentrate heavily on his rib cage, she can see in some spots where the blood vessels have burst and swollen a sickly blue color. His knees are swollen and purple, and Monroe’s not even sure how he was able to walk earlier, especially with seeing the raw and weeping wounds that are carved around both ankles. 

She’s glad she already has to step out to get supplies, because she needs a moment out of the room, silent tears trickle down her face as she gathers what she needs. Hot water and rags, bandages,  _ more bandages,  _ tonics, salves, fresh herbs and plants, her grinding bowl that she can never remember the actual name of, needles and thread. She runs across the house for a last minute pair of underwear she steals from the clothes her brother leaves behind. All of it takes several back and forth trips. 

Monroe immediately starts washing the grime and gore from Arthur’s skin, dragging the wet cloth across his skin as gently as possible. With every pass over skin, Monroe can see how pale and yellowed Arthur’s skin has become, how hollow his face is once she wipes it down. It’s something that was happening before his attack, but Monroe isn’t sure what would’ve forced Arthur to neglect himself like this. 

She decides she’s getting answers when the man wakes up, and she doesn’t care what she has to do to get them.

Cleaning the blackened edges of his shoulder makes Arthur gasp and flinch, but he still doesn’t wake up, even though he’s still been mumbling illegibly in his sleep this entire time. Monroe apologizes softly and finishes up her cleaning. She apologizes a second time in advance, because she’s about to  _ really  _ have to hurt him, grabbing a roll of bandages and the plants she’d brought with her. She grinds the plants into a fine paste, adding clean water to it to loosen it enough to soak into the bandages she tucks into the mixtures. 

While it soaks, Monroe has to get the candle wax and bullet out of Arthur’s wound and flush the current infection out. She doesn’t want to, she’s afraid of hurting Arthur more than he already has been, but if she doesn’t he’s going to  _ die  _ and Monroe can’t lose him.

So she grabs the jar of numbing salve and applies it liberally along the edges of the wound, it’ll help, but it’ll still hurt.

A couple pieces come easy, she just has to pick them off the top of the wound and Arthur doesn’t really react, but that’s where the easy part ends. Monroe has to  _ scrape  _ the wax from the wound and dig into mottled flesh for the rest of it, and Arthur  _ screams _ , the man jerking and thrashing against her with what little strength he has. She hates it, but she doesn’t stop, even when her hands are blood slick and shaking she keeps going, she has to.

“It- it’s okay,” She sobs, trying to stay calm herself “I’ve got you, just a little more.”

Somehow, it works and Arthur quits fighting her despite the pained noises escaping him. Monroe slumps heavily in relief, able to quickly pull the last bits from his shoulder now that he’s stopped moving so much.

Flushing the wound takes a lot of careful movement, he’s too much dead weight for Monroe to effectively roll to make this easier, the last thing anyone needs is for her to flood the bed with nasty wound water. She manages, though, just barely, but it’s still an accomplishment she’ll take, and she rinses the blood from her hands.

Behind her, Bear and King are whining and pawing at the floor in the doorway, knowing they’re not allowed in the bedrooms unless they have permission. They must’ve heard Arthur and ran inside to check on them, she really does have the best dogs ever, so she lets them in but makes them stay on the floor in front of the bed. 

Monroe checks the bandages she’d set to soak and finds they’ve absorbed all the medicine, so she starts packing the wound with them. Arthur jerks more, trying to push her hands away but Monroe’s stronger than him at the moment and is able to power through.

“ _ Please _ , Arthur, I’m almost done.” 

She finishes the wound by covering it with a dry square of cotton to soak up any blood or infection, and wraps his shoulder securely. Everything else is easy: salve on bruises and cuts to help them heal faster, wrapping his ankles, dripping tonic down his throat and making sure he reflex swallows, and putting the long johns on him once he’s finally all patched up.

There’s a final inspection of her work, and she feels like she’s done a pretty good job despite everything. From there, she takes the ruined union suit out back and burns it, letting it smolder to ash while she puts Galahad and Magnolia in a paddock together. Both horses are relieved of their tack and fed grain and oats, Monroe taking advantage of Magnolia's distracted eating to clean the blood and dirt from her coat. She brushes down both of them until their coats are gleaming in the early morning sun, Magnolia is miles better, the mare knickering and swishing her tail as she basks in the attention. 

Monroe inspects Arthur’s saddle, disappointed to find that, besides his guns, the saddle had been picked clean of everything from his bedroll to his spare clothes. 

Exhaustion is settling in, Monroe can feel it in the heaviness of her limbs as she walks back inside the house, her eyes are sore from crying and her throat aches. She makes it back into Arthur’s room and collapses in the chair by the bedside table, uncaring of the uncomfortable position as she falls asleep.

_ She wakes up in a bed that’s far too big, under heavy silken blankets that glide uncomfortably against the skin of her bare legs. Her head feels full of cotton, thoughts jumbled as she groggily sits up to look around, her heart sinks. _

_ Surrounding her is over expensive decor, framed paintings, and the heavy smell of perfume and cigarette smoke. _

_ New Austin. _

_ Monroe stumbles from the bed, nearly toppling over but manages to catch herself on the vanity. She looks in the large mirror and reflection makes her want to scream. _

_ Bruises litter her neck, forming a perfect ring of hand prints, intentions of teeth mar her exposed shoulders, her hair is a mess from being harshly yanked, and the farther down she looks the worse it gets. _

_ She’s naked, no surprise there, fingerprints smudged into her skin, smears of dried blood here and there, her breasts bitten and bruised. Her knees and forearms are raw with carpet burn, and she just  _ hurts  _ everywhere. _

_ It doesn’t bother her as much as it did in the beginning, she remembers throwing up the first few times, violation and anguish heaving in her stomach. She’s mostly numb, save the anger that coils hot inside her, there’s blood under her fingernails that she knows belongs to Lawrence. _

_ Her  _ husband.

_ Monroe turns away from the mirror, shoving on a robe to cover herself before leaving the bedroom, thinking hard about her dream from the night before. _

_ The Downes Family. Escaping.  _ Arthur.  _ Being happy. Then finding him broken and beaten- _

_ Tears spring in her eyes, wishing that it was real and she wasn’t trapped in this Hell with a monster disguised as a man.  _

“Dreams like that are for children,”  _ Her mother would often scold her  _ “You are a woman now, and you’d best start acting like it.”

_ Monroe snorts under her breath, wondering what her mother would say if she could see her now. _

‘Would probably blame me,’  _ She thinks bitterly _

_ She ignores the cleaning ladies and the men that are supposed to open doors for her, she ignores the lavish home that is completely out of place in New Austin. She ignores that Lawrence will yell at her for being underdressed, not caring that the black fabric barely brushes her ruined knees and opens down her collar. She ignores everything because it’s all she can do not to fall apart. _

_ There’s a commotion in the parlor, a loud crash and shouting, Monroe’s pulse spikes but she still opens the door to look. There’s a man on the ground, beaten and groaning, and Lawrence is standing above him holding a shotgun. Her husband is just as beaten, his perfectly combed hair ruined, blood on his face and manic rage in his eyes- he looks like he did above Monroe last night. _

_ Lawrence looks up at her and grins, is cruel and twisted as he is, there’s victory in his eyes.  _

_ “Monroe, Monroe,” He tsk’s “Did you  _ really  _ think this backwoods  _ criminal  _ was going to help you? You’re still such a naive girl.” _

_ What?  _

_ Monroe looks down at the man, he’s weakly reaching for a LeMat she recognizes as- _

_ “Arthur?” She whispers, disbelieving  _

_ Arthur turns his head to look at her, eyes bright as he tells her to run, he tells her he’ll come after her but she has to  _ run.

_ Lawrence chuckles “How precious, how much you two do care for one another, hm?” _

_ He presses the barrel into Arthur’s shoulder, grinding metal against bone “Lets see how you two fair in death then.” _

_ He pulls the trigger and Monroe screams. _

Monroe jerks away with a shout, nearly falling out of her chair, she wipes the tears from her eyes and looks around the room until she sees Arthur asleep. Relief floods her system as she stands with a heavy sigh, making her way over to check on the man, she hates when she dreams of New Austin, or her marriage. It reminds her of what she really is,  _ who  _ she really is, and all the things that could ruin her if anyone else figured it out.

She gives Arthur more tonic, reapplies salve, checks his bandages and deems him alright for the moment. Monroe herself, though, smells awful and feels gritty and decides on having a quick bath.

She fills the tub on auto pilot, refusing to let her thoughts wonder as she gathers fresh clothes and a towel. Monroe focuses on thinking over Arthur’s treatment as she undresses, facing away from the bathroom mirror, letting everything melt away when she sinks into the warm water. It’s a perfunctory wash, scrubbing away all the grime and gross twice, getting out, getting dry, and getting dressed. She doesn’t see Lawrence in the corners of her vision, she isn’t on the verge of a panic attack,  _ she’s fine.  _ Arthur needs her to be okay, she’s no help to him if she’s a broken down mess just because of a single bad dream.

Monroe throws her hair up in a messy braid, walking back down the hall to the bedroom when she hears a voice that isn’t Arthur’s. She knows that voice, she grew up with that voice, but why he’s here  _ now  _ of all times makes Monroe dread walking back in the room.

Because standing in her guest bedroom is familiar Auburn hair and green eyes similar to hers but darker, he’s in riding jeans and a off white button up with a silver star pinned to his chest. He’s standing over Arthur’s sleeping form, hands on his hips in his typical “I’m really disappointed, but I can’t be mad.” Pose that makes Monroe roll her eyes on reflex.

She steps into the room and sighs out a half hearted “Hi, Elliot.”

Elliot turns to look at Monroe, his hands leaving his hips to cross his arms across his chest “Why is there a notorious outlaw half dead in your bed?”

Wow, no greeting? Someone’s cranky.

She huffs, seeing Bear and King laying on the floor in front of Arthur’s bed unmoving and thinking the least they could’ve done was  _ barked  _ when her brother barged in unannounced.

“He’s in my guest bed,” Monroe corrects, Elliot giving her a flat look “He was dying! What was I supposed to do?”

“Take him to the doctor and  _ leave him there _ .” Her brother isn’t one for raising his voice, he’s never had to to get his point across, and like now, he talks low and even with a bite of steel in his tone.

Monroe throws her arms out, gesturing the to surrounding area “What doctor? If you haven’t noticed, I live in the middle of nowhere.”

It’s not unusual for the two of them to but heads, Elliot’s always been over protective of Monroe and Monroe’s always been, well,  _ Monroe _ . She understands he cares, but she’s a grown woman now and she can take care of herself.

“Please, Elliot,” She says softly “He’s not what you think.”

Elliot sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose “How do you know him?” He asks wearily, and Monroe beams because she knows she’s won.

“I met him at Thomas’ delivering medicine, he’s been by a couple times to help me build around here.” It’s not technically a lie “How do  _ you  _ know him?”

He gives her another flat look “I’m one of the most successful lawmen in the country, ‘Roe, I’ve  _ known  _ about Arthur Morgan for years.”

“Yeah,” She waves him off “But you wouldn’t be so lenient if you didn’t  _ know  _ him.” 

Monroe is rocking on her heels now, watching her brother rub his face in exasperation “Only you of all people would have a soft spot for an outlaw.” He groans, and Monroe glares at him.

“Alright alright,” He relents. “Found him while following a lead for work, he’d already taken care of most of the job and saved some civilians before we’d gotten there.”

“Aaaaaand?” Now she’s just being annoying, but he deserves it for coming by unannounced.

“He’s not  _ that  _ bad,  _ but _ ,” He shuts her down before she can gloat “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a wanted man, and he  _ will  _ pay for his crimes one day, they all do.”

Monroe huffs, shoving past him to sit on the edge of the bed and dab cool water across Arthur’s brow “ _ Lawrence  _ isn't going to.” She grits out, mood souring.

Elliot falters, running a hand through his hair “You  _ know  _ that’s different-”

“Why?” She snaps “Because we were married? Because it’s not wrong to beat your wife? What’s _wrong_ is that men like Lawrence get to walk free as monsters, yet you’d send Arthur to die despite knowing he’s a better man than most.”

Elliot doesn’t stay long after, leaving with a quiet few words of apology and promising to come back to check on her in a few days. 

He doesn’t, but Monroe figures that he’s working.

Monroe spends the next several days tending to Arthur, changing bandages and washing the sweat from his skin when his fever spikes, making sure to give him plenty of water and bone broth soup to keep him nourished. If it’s not Arthur, she’s tending to the horses and her new chickens who’ve started following her everywhere and almost ended up in the house on several occasions.

After a couple days of packing his shoulder, Monroe is happy to see that the would is clean and she can stitch it up to finish healing. He cries out while she does, half awake and delirious as he shouts against the pain

“I’m sorry this hurts, but I promise it’s worth it.” She soothes him afterwards, gently stroking his hair and applying numbing salve to his new stitches.

He sleeps and he sleeps, waking up in small fits to warn Dutch about traps and a man named Colm or to apologize for leaving Monroe for so long. It’s obvious he doesn’t know where he is, and it hurts Monroe to watch him suffer in his mind where she can’t ease his pain. She settles with pressing her lips against his knuckles or his brow, whispering soft kindness and encouragement into his skin whenever he seems to look worse.

“You’re so strong, Arthur,” She tells him late one night “I just wish you could see what I do.”

She’s changing the bandages on his ankles for what’s likely the last time, seeing how the skin is nearly completely closed up, when she hears Arthur at the other end of the bed.

“M’sorry, Dutch,” He rasps, eyes open but unseeing as Monroe watches him “I shoulda never doubted you’d come for me. I ain’t been good to you like I should, and I haven’t trusted you lately, but I am sorry.. I’m really, truly… Sorry..” His voice is fading, eyes drooping back shut before he’s back asleep.

Monroe sighs heavy and loud, feeling an anger bubble in her chest as she gathers the soiled bandages to get rid of. She knows it’s really none of her business, but she’s almost positive that Arthur’s like this because of Dutch Van der Linde. The man apparently saved Arthur when he was a boy, and raised him as his own, but it just didn’t look that way to Monroe. What kind of father left their son in the hands of animals that could inflict so much pain? She looks down at the blood stained wrappings in her hands, thinks of the days she’s spent tending to Arthur’s wounds and wonders what happens next. Is she mending his body just so he can go break it for the whims of a man who doesn’t deserve Arthur’s strength and loyalty?

Dutch doesn’t deserve the place he holds in Arthur’s heart, he doesn’t deserve the blood that’s been spilt or the countless apologies she’s heard. 

She just wishes Arthur knew that he was better than whatever it was Dutch deemed him.

Monroe mulls over this for the next day, between laundry and cooking and preparing medicine, she thinks about what she’s going to say to Arthur once he’s awake and can talk. 

It’s a pretty good speech, she thinks, with plenty of valid points and no crying.

However, it all falls apart when she hears Arthur and King down the hall.

She cries, and she’s pretty sure it’s awful for Arthur to have to hold her but she can’t let go of him. They talk a little, and Arthur continues to amaze Monroe with how amazing a man he is and how big his heart is.

He lets her show him his wounds, freeing his arm from being bound from his chest and letting him press and poke his faded bruises. They’re mostly faded, thanks to Monroe’s constant application of salves, though his ribs are still purplish and his knees need more time. His stitches look great, Monroe taking pride in her ability to take such good care of Arthur all this time, he chuckles at her enthusiasm.

“So,” He asks “How long have I been out?”

Monroe counts, or tries to, some of the days muddle together “Around ten? Maybe twelve?” She guesses

Arthur goes pale, suddenly very interested in getting out of the bed, talking fast under his breath, Monroe barely manages to block him getting out the door.

“What are you doing?” She asks, taken back by the sudden change in his demeanor 

“I’ve got to get back, I’ve been gone too long.” His voice is firm, but Monroe notices he isn’t making a move to dislodge her.

No slack for gentlemanly behavior this time, though.

“Arthur, you took a  _ shotgun to the shoulder _ , not a vacation. You need to take it easy, or you’ll ruin your arm.” She warns him, crossing her arms. The man huffs, not backing down despite his bandages and only being half dressed, and Monroe is  _ not  _ getting distracted now that he’s mostly better- she’s  _ not _ .

Stupid handsome Arthur Morgan and his stupid pretty eyes.

“I’m fine now, Monroe, and I  _ have  _ to get back.” He argues, and the two of them stand there and stare at one another for a long moment. 

He’s just going to run back to Dutch, jump into whatever foolishness he was in before he’d been hurt, despite how desperate he’d been to get out of it. It’s not like she can  _ keep  _ Arthur here, and she knows he’s got people relying on him, but this-  _ this  _ wasn’t that. Monroe sighs, coming to a decision and looking up at Arthur with hands on her hips.

Elliot was going to  _ kill  _ her.

“Fine, you can go,” She tells him, and she steps out of his way 

“Thank you.” Arthur murmurs, walking out of the room

“ _ But, _ ” Monroe calls behind him “I’m going with you.”

Arthur tries to argue again but Monroe shrugs and walks past him, gathering more of Elliot’s clothes for Arthur to wear. She lets the man get dressed as she slides on her riding boots and heads outside to get Galahad and Magnolia ready for a long trip. 

A long trip that’s full of Arthur trying to convince Monroe that what she’s doing is a bad idea, which, she knows that, but that’s not the point.

“The point  _ is _ ,” Monroe stresses for what feels like the hundredth time “That I’m not going to let you waste almost two weeks worth of recovery jumping off trains or running into shootouts.”

Arthur doesn’t argue, because he probably  _ would  _ do both of those things within a few days' time. 

“I just don’t want you dragged into all this mess, it ain’t safe.” He tries instead, sounding way too much like Elliot. 

She frowns, looking over at Arthur, seeing the concern creased in the man’s face as he worries over her. It’s endearing, making Monroe’s insides turn mushy and warm, having someone care about her like this. She doesn’t want to make him worry, but she’s just as worried about him- and for good reason. Every jostle in the saddle makes him wince, she has to keep reminding him to not scratch at his stitches, and his bruised face looks worse in the sun than it did back home. She sighs softly and looks away at her hands, twisting her reins tightly around her fingers, her dream flashing through her thoughts.

“You almost  _ died _ , Arthur.” She’s not going to cry again, she’s  _ not _ “You left me and I found you half dead weeks later from God knows what and I’m just supposed to let you leave again? What if you  _ don’t  _ come back at all next time?”

There’s a moment of silence where he just stares at her, jaw slack.

“I really matter all that much to you?” Arthur finally asks, disbelief coloring his tone, making Monroe whip up to look at him in shock.

“You think you  _ don’t matter to me _ ?” She almost shouts “Arthur Morgan, you are the  _ best  _ thing to happen to me in years, I don’t care if you’re older or if we haven’t known each other long. I know how I feel and I know what you mean to me, and I can’t lose that before I even get a chance to know what it’s like and I don’t care if that makes me selfish.” 

Monroe would pour her heart out a thousand times if that’s what it took to show Arthur how cherished he was, how much he meant to her. She’d shout his name from the mountain tops if that’s what it took to show him how great he was.

Arthur doesn’t have anything to say, and it’s fine, because Monroe can see him chewing on his lip, deep in thought, as they continue riding. So, while she waits, she compiles a mental list of all the things she’s going to do to show Arthur that she means every word she said.

“We’re, uh, we’re here.” He states awkwardly a little while later, leading Monroe through a clearing and into a quaint camping ground that’s packed full and bustling. 

They barely have time to dismount when people swarm Arthur, calling his name and asking a million questions the man is fumbling to try and answer. Everyone looks like a mix of excited and relieved, which eases some of the nerves in Monroe’s stomach.

He really doesn’t have any idea who much he’s cared for.

“Arthur, who’s this?” A young woman asks, she’s a dark skinned woman, her beautiful complexion complimented by her yellow dress. 

Monroe is suddenly being looked at by several people, and she hadn’t taken this into consideration when she’d bullied her way here with Arthur. She manages a kind smile, though, and a tiny wave of introductions.

“I’m Monroe, a friend.” She greets as politely as possible

Everyone is nice, introducing themselves to Monroe easily, the dark skinned woman is Tilly, followed by Mary-Beth, Karen and Kieran, then she meets Abigail and her son Jack, and lastly she’s reintroduced to Charles.

“Long time no see.” She tells the man, hiding her mirth behind a friendly smile.

“Likewise.” He chuckles, but there’s a concern in his eyes as he continues to glance at Arthur’s bruised face, so Monroe mouths at him that they’ll talk later.

It’s a nice moment, Monroe getting to watch Arthur laugh with the young women and ruffle little Jack’s hair, a couple ask about his face but he easily waves them off. Monroe gets to talk to Kieran, the man enthralled with Galahad, and she’s more than happy to brag about the stallion to him for as long as he’ll let her. 

“ _ Morgan! _ ” A rough voice rips through the cheerful atmosphere, belonging to a rough looking large man who’s charging their way followed by two others.

“Bill.” Arthur sighs, shoulders dropping, and Monroe wants to launch this Bill person into the sun.

“Where the hell you been!?” Bill hollers “You have any idea the shit we’ve had to put up with while you’ve been gone?”

Arthur shuffles, scratching the back of his head, he tries to say something but Bill yells over him.

“Lets go! I’ve got a job with the Grays and we need to get to Rhodes now!” He and the other men stomp over to their horses.

Monroe stares at the man in disbelief, feeling something pull taunt in her chest and close to snapping. She looks over at Arthur who’s conflicted as he looks between the campsite and Magnolia, when the man sighs Monroe knows he’s going to get back on his horse. Even if she had thought about it beforehand, she wouldn’t have stopped herself from grabbing Arthur’s elbow before he could turn around.

“Arthur,” She stresses “You’re not recovered enough.” 

Especially not enough to go to work in  _ Rhodes  _ of all places, there’s no telling what could happen there.

“I ain’t got a choice.” He tells her, face tight and solemn, and he believes it.

Monroe doesn’t let him go “If things go bad, you won’t be able to protect yourself.” She’s begging, tightening her fingers in the sleeve of his shirt. 

She feels a lot of different things, no stranger to emotion, and she’s learned she’s better off being honest with how she feels. Keeping herself in check has never been her strong suit, either, so when one of the men slinks over to them and leers at Monroe she begins to feel the taunt pulling in her chest quiver.

“Who’s your friend here, cowpoke?” He drawls, tone mocking “This where you been hidin’ out, huh? You skipping out on Dutch to fuck some little girl-”

It surprises Monroe that Arthur punches the man first, sending him sprawling across the dirt “You shut your  _ damn mouth _ , Micah.” He snarls, blood dripping from his knuckles. It’s so quiet, Monroe’s positive she could hear a pin drop, people frozen in shock as the man snivels in the ground.

Monroe gets the feeling Arthur doesn’t punch people at camp often, and he just clocked some poor bastard for trying to insult her. She’s flattered, terrified of what’s going to happen, but flattered.

She also notices that that was his bad arm, and now he’s pressing the hell of his hand against his stitches while gritting his teeth. Monroe hopes he didn’t rip them, she can’t see any blood in the cotton of his shirt, she’ll have to check the bandages.

“What in the  _ hell  _ is going on here!?” A new voice breaks through the silence, and a man that Monroe recognizes as Dutch Van der Linde from wanted posters is making his way to them. 

People part like the Red Sea before Moses, letting Dutch through to see Micah on the ground nursing a busted jaw and Arthur looming over him still seething in anger. Monroe watches the man look between the two men before glancing at her and she doesn’t like how cold his eyes become.

“Arthur,” He starts, voice lofty in that false tone Monroe is all too familiar with. “Glad to see you finally decided to come home, son. And with company, too, I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We gonna fight, Van der Linde.
> 
> And I’m so furious my format keeps expanding, and now it’s only halfway through the chapter and I can’t fix it (; A ;)


	9. Righteous Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something churning deep in his gut, thick and burning, the man can’t recall the last time he was this angry. He figured he was just angry all the time, but this-
> 
> This made Arthur’s shoulders shake, his skin hot and prickly all over, the hand cradling his wound pressing too tight against his stitches was the only thing keeping him grounded. It felt like a storm in the very core of his being, tidal waves crashing hard against his self restraint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I almost made it a whole week this time! Yay for pacing yourself! 
> 
> But, oh my gosh, I missed you guys! (TT n TT)
> 
> I actually took a couple days to sit down and map out the next handful of chapters, so I could look at about how long this bad boy’s going to be. It’s gonna be at least double where we’re at now, which is terrifying and exciting, but I promise it’s going to be packed with goodies for you guys!
> 
> This chapter really kicked my butt, though, because I had to tweak it a lot or it would’ve been too cluttered. For the sake of world building, I had to cut stuff and put it in the next couple chapters instead.  
> This chapter also feels slightly more fast paced than the others, but I was hoping to kind of portray that brash and quick to react behavior a lot of people have when their angry, but also that you can feel other things along side your anger- negative or otherwise. Though, I don’t think I got it.
> 
> For now, though, enjoy Arthur’s metaphorical spine growth aided by plenty of calcium milked from the love of his family and vitamin Monroe.
> 
> (Psst! Remember! No beta, I suck all on my own.)

“It ain’t like that, Dutch.” Arthur tries, but there’s a hardness in the man’s eyes that says he doesn’t believe him.

“I told you,” Micah coughs as he stands “Told you that Morgan was turnin’ yellow on us, tuckin’ tail and running when things get too hard. Just like with Colm, the big man turned chicken shit and ran away, most likely to cry to this  _ young lady _ here.”

Arthur doesn’t care how bad his arm hurts, he reckons he could probably beat Micah a few more times before it became too much. There’s something churning deep in his gut, thick and  _ burning,  _ the man can’t recall the last time he was this angry. He figured he was just angry all the time, but  _ this _ -

This made Arthur’s shoulders shake, his skin hot and prickly all over, the hand cradling his wound pressing too tight against his stitches was the only thing keeping him grounded. It felt like a storm in the very core of his being, tidal waves crashing hard against his self restraint. 

“That true, son?” Dutch asks, voice grave, and Arthur feels himself begin to crack.

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” Monroe is suddenly there, standing a half step in front of Arthur as if trying to shield him “He’s been gone for  _ days _ , comes back looking like he got hit by a train, and  _ this is your reaction _ ?”

She’s seething, disbelieving and angry on his behalf, he can imagine the heat in her eyes and the way her nose scrunches when she’s upset. It soothes him like a balm on a burn, knowing that she’s there for him, that she’s not afraid of standing up for herself and others.

Dutch, however, has never been one to take kindly to people standing up to his authority.

“Miss,” His grave tone holds a warning “I’m going to have to ask you to hold your tongue.”

It’s funny, Arthur thinks, how all this time he just wanted Dutch’s forgiveness, to be seen as he used to be. It feels like  _ years  _ wasted, watching Dutch in this moment and only feeling the need to protect others from him. 

When did Dutch become a threat?

Probably a lot longer ago than Arthur cares to admit, looking back at everything that’s happened in the last year.

“Arthur, you’re really going to let her talk to Dutch like that?” Javier is flanking the older man, defensive in his stance, staring at Arthur as if he’s lost his mind.

Maybe he has.

“She’s not wrong.” Charles cuts in, stepping to stand beside Arthur as well “Arthur works harder than anyone at camp, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like this when we don’t even know  _ why  _ he was gone.” He finishes, giving Dutch and Micah a hard look.

They all turn and look at Arthur expectantly.

“It was a trap, Dutch,” Arthur says, breathing out a harsh breath just to alleviate some of the buildup inside him “Colm took me thinkin’ you’d all come after me, and he made a deal with the law for your head.”

There’s a shift in the camp, rippling across like water.

“When you didn’t show, I reckon he figured tryin’ to beat information outta me was the next best thing. Monroe found me after I’d escaped, and I came back as soon as I could.”

Dutch is shifting where he stands, the color draining from his face as his eyes dart around camp, there’s a flicker of emotion in his eyes that doesn’t last when Micah opens his damn mouth.

“And?” He questions, voice carrying “Did ya talk? You’ve been gone an awful long time, Morgan, plenty of time to spill your guts and still have this little  _ story  _ of yours sound believable.”

“We’re still _alive_ , ain’t we?” It’s Sadie this time, shouldering past Bill to glare hard at Micah “Figure if Colm knew everything, he’d already come down here, there’s enough shit going on here to get us killed easy, he wouldn’t have to do much.”

Arthur sees the line in the sand, the clear division throughout camp as to who believes him and who’s standing behind Dutch either way. He’s not surprised, a little disappointed, but not surprised.

He sighs heavily around the tight ball in his chest, exhaling more of the biting edge he feels inside him, he’s been gone for at least two weeks yet the man who calls him  _ son  _ couldn’t be bothered to wonder where he was. 

“I told you both when it was over we’d meet at the fork in the road, what’d you think when I wasn’t there?” 

“We were having a damn shootout, you think we had  _ time  _ to stop and meet up?” Micah hollers back, as if Arthur is some kind of dumbass for thinking they’d do that.

“We tried to look for you,” John is coming up through the crowd, face tight “Me and Charles, but we were told to leave it, that it wasn’t unusual for you to run off for a couple days and there was work that needed doin’.”

Arthur feels something break, not by much, but enough to let some of that anger leak through. He clenches his jaw against an onslaught of words he’s not sure he means, straightens his shoulders despite the pain, and looks over to Bill. The man is glowering at him, but hasn’t said anything, he’s probably been too drunk to notice what’s been going on lately.

“Lets go, ain’t no point fightin’ when we got work to do.” He tells him, then turns heel towards his horse, Monroe is right there next to him with Charles, both of them trying to convince him this isn’t a good idea.

He stops them with a look “This is it,” He tells them, voice low enough to keep from being overheard “This is the last fool’s errand, I’m tired of all this almost dyin’ for nothing nonsense. You get whoever it is that’s on board ready to leave in a few days' time, not a word to no one who’d start trouble, but make sure John comes with Abigail.”

“What changed your mind about John?” Charles asks

“He’s my brother, I should’ve never kept him out in the first place.”

Arthur pulls himself onto Magnolia with his good arm, then he looks down at Monroe who looks crestfallen “I  _ will  _ come back,” He promises her “And you can yell at me all you want on our way home.”

Monroe gapes at him for a moment before pulling herself together and giving him a watery smile “Be careful.” She murmurs softly, Charles pulls her away with him afterwards so Arthur can ride off.

He doesn’t wait for Bill or Micah to finish saddling up, taking off through the tree line with a single minded determination, the quicker he gets this mess sorted the quicker he can help those who really need it.

He thinks about the fever dreams, of apologizing endlessly to Dutch, of how, even when on the verge of dying, all he wanted was for the man to know how much Arthur cared. However, Dutch isn’t the same man he was all them years ago, no matter how hard Arthur fought to defend his actions to himself and to others. 

All he’d wanted was to keep his family safe, but Dutch was so consumed by the thrill and bravado of his lifestyle he didn’t care about safety anymore.

Just bigger jobs, more money, and the imfamy of leading such a notorious gang.

The last dredges of the Dutch he knew had started flickering out in Colter, saving Mrs. Adler being the last selfless thing Arthur could remember the man doing. Everything else was just talk, talk that Arthur had fell for time and time again.

“English! Wait up!”

Arthur blinks, slowing Magnolia to a trot so Sean could catch up, the man waving one arm about while the other held tight to Ennis’ reins. He pulls the stallion up next to Arthur, looking at the man with an incredulous expression.

“Mind explainin’ what the devil all that was back there?” He asks, waving back at the direction of camp.

“You saw what it was.” Arthur grunted, not in the mood to defend himself, the slower they rode the sooner Bill and Micah would catch up.

“I saw you knock the piss outta rat is what I saw,” Sean says, making Arthur choke on a startled laugh “I mean what happened with Dutch and them? Micah said you’d gone, turned and ran, not comin’ back, but you’re sayin’ them damn O’Driscols had ya?”

“They did, took me off the cliff.” Arthur huffs, looking over the skyline

“Then there’s that girl, I thought she was gonna tear Dutch a new one I did! Who is she?” 

Huh. Arthur didn’t think Sean would be one of the ones to side with him on this. 

“Why do you gotta ask so many damn questions?” Arthur groans, running a hand down his face, not getting his hopes up yet.

“Well, Karen said we’re leavin’ soon, off to a ranch to live a better life and all that. Said you n’ Charles been workin’ real hard to get us the money we need, and, if I’m gonna be goin’ with ya, I figured I’d best start doin’ my fair share o’ the work,” Sean explained, accent thickening as he spoke, Arthur having to focus to understand the Irishman. 

He feels his brows reach his hairline, surprised to hear not that Karen had told Sean but that  _ Sean  _ was so eager to go with them. It makes something warm curl in his chest, thinking of having another whom he considers his brother coming along.

“Alright, alright, just keep your mouth shut about all this, understand? It’d be nasty business if the wrong folk found out.” He warns the young man who nods enthusiastically.

“You’ve my word, Arthur Morgan. Now, let’s get this mess with them there Grays over with and get on with our lives!” Sean crows, barely managing to recompose himself as Micah and Bill catch up right outside of Rhodes.

Micah’s jaw is already turning a mottled bluish purple that makes Arthur hide a smirk while Bill explains the details of the job they’re doing today- something about the Grays needing extra security. It sounds like just another job, but it doesn’t sit right that Arthur and Sean are here seeing how they were the ones who torched their fields. 

They ride into town and hitch their horses, Bill saying they’re meeting at the Sheriff’s office, Arthur grabs his Springfield and slings it over his shoulder. 

Rhodes had never been a busy town, Arthur muses, an uneasy feeling creeping up his spine, but it had never been  _ dead  _ like this. Sean is walking ahead of them, flailing his arms with bravado as he chatters on, Arthur’s not listening though, he can’t hear over the thunder of his heart in his ears. 

The young man flings his hand exceptionally hard, the flick catching Arthur’s eye and he looks over to see what’s got the kid so excited when he catches it.

A glint of light, gone faster than it appeared up on a rooftop, Arthur immediately recognizes the scope glare for what it is and reaches out to snatch Sean out of the way.

It hurts his shoulder like a bitch, but it’s worth it when the bullet whizzes past them, grazing Sean’s sleeve enough to tear the sleeve. The shooter shouts, and all Hell breaks loose.

“ _ Dammit  _ Bill!” Arthur hollers as they duck for cover, Sean pale as snow and trying to regain his footing.

He’d been  _ that close  _ to losing the man.

Arthur feels something break inside him, like a dam giving under an unrelenting wave, and he’s suddenly  _ furious. _

The town is covered in gunmen, bullets flying and blood splattering the streets, Micah and Bill are ahead of them shouting nonsense and shooting wildly.

“You okay?” He manages to ask Sean, the man swallows hard but nods 

“Takes a lot more than a trap to take down ol’ Sean MacGuire!” He assures Arthur, then sets off to do some shooting of his own.

Arthur doesn’t have it in him to chuckle, the roaring in his ears almost deafening as he lines up his rifle and begins picking off men from rooftops. The recoil throbs deep in his shoulder, he can feel the butt of the gun sliding against his shirt from where he’s started to bleed. He grunts, ripping into the tail of his shirt to wad up against the wound and staunch the bleeding.

He works his way up through town, following behind the other three to give them cover despite not caring if Micah or Bill got shot at the moment.

There’s a tightness in his eyes, and an ache in his jaw from gritting his teeth. His heart is pounding against his ribs, jackrabbiting to the beat of his anger as he fires round after round, men drop like flies but it does nothing for him.

All this shit for  _ nothing _ , years of bullet wounds and broken bones just to have it all thrown back in his face, blind loyalty repaid in blood and loss. Arthur had all but sold his soul for Dutch, heaped the man’s life work upon his broad shoulders and carried it for twenty years. The only thing he’d ever wanted in return was the safety of his family and a place for them to call home, yet he’d almost lost Sean minutes ago, and before that he’d lost Mac, Davey, and Jenny.

_ “No more”  _ Arthur decides  _ “No more losin’ folks chasing some fool’s dream.”  _

He ends up squirreled away in the gun shop with Micah, curled up under the window as a barrage of bullets rain glass and casings across their heads. Sean’s the one who clears them a path, yelling at them that Bill’s made his way into the Sheriff’s office when they run back out into the street. There’s no more men left to hinder them as they make their way to Sheriff Gray, Micah letting the man know he’s lost and to come out. 

He does, with four other men and Bill as their hostage, and threatens to kill him if they don’t surrender their guns and turn themselves in. Arthur sighs, slowly dropping his rifle before bringing his hands up in surrender, he lets his eyes focus on Sheriff Gray and the small space between him and Bill- just enough for a bullet.

The shot rings out and Leigh Gray collapses in a dead heap, followed quickly by the other men, leaving Bill standing there looking lost.

“ _The_ _hell was that,_ English?!” Sean cries, astonished as Arthur reloads his Schofield before sliding it back in his holster.

“That, my friend, is called skill.” He tells Sean “Something you sorely lack.”

“Oh, har har,” Sean rolls his eyes “I was plenty skilled back there, and you know it!”

Arthur waves him off as good naturedly as he can at the moment, his entire arm has started to throb and he can feel blood dripping down his fingers. He’s certain Monroe’s going to have a fit, and she’s right to, all her hard work wasted on him.

That line of thinking isn’t helping his foul mood, and he does the only thing he can to keep from throttling Bill on the spot: he picks up his rifle and heads back to Magnolia, stepping over dead men in the street.

Sean is close by, blessedly quite this time, and they ride back to camp empty handed.

He has no choice but to stew in his anger, the pain in his arm only making it worse, he gnashes his teeth against harsh words and tightens his fingers around the reins lest he shoots someone. There’s nothing he can do to stop the last couple months from playing in his head, showing him each cheap shot he’s taken, and reminding him how much of a fool he’s been. 

Getting to camp doesn’t make anything better, it makes it all so much worse. 

There’s commotion everywhere, shouting back and forth between folk, an undercurrent of panic filling the atmosphere. 

Arthur sees Hosea and Dutch arguing in the latter man’s tent, anger clear on both their faces as they go at one another. There wasn’t a lot that could make Hosea stand up to Dutch in such a way, worry gnawing at his insides as he takes in the rest of camp.

Mary-Beth, Karen, and Tilly are huddled around a distressed Abigail, the woman clutching Jack like a lifeline and the both of them are crying. Miss Grimshaw is standing with Lenny and Javier, all of them dark with anger as they stand watch for camp- even  _ Uncle _ is alert and holding a rifle. 

What on earth happened?

He hurries to find Monroe, unwilling to let the panic get to him, hoping she’s still at the camp.

Arthur finds her with John and Charles, her shirt is torn and stained with dirt and blood, and her hair’s a mess, it makes the anger in Arthur threaten to boil over. He doesn’t stop himself from pulling her close, despite her startled yelp, he cradles her head in his hands and looks her over, eyes taking in every detail.

Along with her ruined shirt and hair is a split in her lip and a gash across her bruised cheekbone, he’s seen it often enough to know she’s been backhanded with excessive force. There are faint red streaks across her face, most likely from where she’d wiped away blood after whatever happened. 

It lights his nerves on fire, his vision turning red as he feels himself tremble with what little restraint he has left.

“ _ Who? _ ” His tone is rough, gravelly in a way that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, he can feel Monroe shiver against him.

“Those damn Braithwaites tried to snatch Jack at the river.” It’s John who speaks, words venomous

Arthur takes a harsh breath, but doesn’t say anything.

“Monroe offered to take him since camp was… tense.” Charles adds on “They made it back about ten minutes before you did.”

He looks back down at Monroe, watching, waiting.

She’s resting her cheek in his palm, the left one he notes, unafraid of Arthur in his rage, even as the two men behind her are hesitant to get any closer. As if she’s confident Arthur would never hurt her, no matter how bad he got, that she’s safe in his hands no matter what.

“They tried to sneak up on us from the trees,” Monroe tells him “Two of them tried to hold me so the other could get Jack, I bit one of them.”

“You  _ bit  _ him?” Arthur feels like the wind is punched from his lungs, taking the anger with it, as he’s forced to give a short, barking, laugh.

The woman puffs her reddening cheeks some, rolling her eyes “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Where are they now?” He asks, deciding not to humor her antics 

Monroe shrugs “We lost them in the woods, but I’m pretty sure they gave up and went home.”

Arthur goes to say something else, because he knows there’s more she isn’t telling him, but Monroe wiggles free and grabs his right hand to inspect the blood that had started drying to his skin. Her eyes track the blood up to his shoulder and she gives Arthur a hard look of her own.

“I thought you were going to be careful.” She says, reaching up to move inspect the damage further.

“I thought we were talkin’ about Jack at the river.” Arthur counters, pulling her hand away from his shirt, watching the challenge flare in her eyes.

“ _ Jack’s  _ Fine.  _ You’re  _ not, so let me-”

“You’re in pretty rough shape yourself,” He comments, brushing a knuckle across the bruise and watching her flinch at the pain “So why don’t you tell me what  _ really  _ happened at the river?”

Monroe sighs through her nose, and Arthur imagines she’s fighting stomping her foot “Fine, but then I’m fixing your shoulder- no argument. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“They  _ were _ after Jack,” Monroe explains. “Apparently some Italian in Saint Denis deals in kids, Catherine Braithwaite does business with him. I guess they didn’t figure we’d hear them over the river, so when I told Jack to run as they broke through the trees, they threatened that if I didn’t call him back they’d hurt me.”

Arthur doesn’t like this much, fingers itching towards his holsters.

“I hit one of them in the face with a rock before the other two could grab me, he was going to run in the woods after Jack, and I learned a while back that if someone grabs you- just go limp and they’ll fall with you.”

John snorts an ugly laugh behind her

“There was a bit of a scuffle after that, one hit me pretty bad, but I bit his finger off and started screaming really loud- so they ran away.” She finishes with a shrug.

It’s not funny, it’s  _ not _ . Yet Arthur feels his lips twitch, and can see Charles and John gaping at the back of Monroe’s head in disbelief, he has to take a deep breath to steady himself before speaking.

“You bit a lotta fingers off to be this composed about it?” He can’t help himself

“No,” She muses “This is the first finger.”

Arthur purses his lips, not sure how he feels about that answer, but he’s sure he doesn’t want to know what she  _ has _ bitten off before. He looks at her bruised face and sighs, giving a chuckle at her antics before allowing her to maneuver him into sitting down to check his shoulder. John excuses himself to go back to his family, muttering under his breath about crazy women and sharp teeth, but Charles stays to help Monroe. Arthur feels silly to be fretted over so much, he’d already been babied for  _ eleven days _ , couldn’t he just douse it in whiskey and be done?

Monroe peels his shirt from off the wound and even that makes Arthur hiss in pain, but she keeps on and looks over his shoulder. It’s an ugly mess of mottled yellow and purple, blood tacky on his skin, the skin around the stitches is swollen and throbbing. Charles procures a rag and a bottle of antiseptic (“Alcohol is for amputating and crybabies.” “Which one are you, Arthur?” “Both of you  _ shuddup _ .”) so Monroe can clean the area. It hurts like a bitch, and Arthur may or may not yowl like a cat, but thankfully the stitches are still intact.

She does tighten his stitches, then cleans them once more before putting some salve on that makes the pain ebb away. He slouches, splaying his legs out in front of him and trying to relax, he feels miles better than before, but there’s still a knot of anger deep in his gut. Arthur watches Monroe hand Charles back the antiseptic and wash out the rag, the light catching on the congealed blood across her cheek. He sighs for what feels like the hundredth time, guilt gnawing at his heart, and he looks away at the rest of camp to see everyone else. Where he’s sitting is at the edge of camp by the tree line, the lake only a handful of yards away, no one’s paid them any mind save the occasional glance their way.

Abigail still hasn’t let Jack go, despite his squirming, and John is sitting by them silent but his expression is open and warm, it makes Arthur proud. Mary-Beth looks spooked in her tent, keeping her hands busy with stitching clothing but her eyes are darting about, while Karen and Tilly are hauling laundry to hang up and dry. Sean and Javier are chatting, Uncle’s back asleep under his tree, Micah and Bill are slouched at the table, but Micah is staring at Monroe intently. Arthur catches his eye, glaring hard at the man who gives a salacious grin in return, and he’s getting up to finish the bastard off when Charles steps in front of him.

“I don't think killing Micah’s going to make anything better right now.”

“I wasn’t gonna kill ‘em.” Arthur huffs

Charles just looks at him, making him toss his hands up “Fine! But I wasn’t gonna kill him  _ dead _ .” He clarifies.

Their banter is interrupted by Lenny walking over, wearing a nervous expression “Arthur, Dutch needs to speak with you, uh,  _ urgently _ .” 

Arthur frowns, but stands all the same, looking and seeing Monroe is watching him with a furrowed expression of concern. 

“Gotta see Dutch.” He tells her, not missing how she mutters “ _ Entitled jackass _ .” In reference to Dutch. Part of him still wants to defend the man, even if just a little, but he pushes it down when he recalls Dutch’s less than admirable behavior towards her earlier. He follows Lenny to Dutch’s tent, watching the boy poke his head in for a moment before darting off- most likely to avoid whatever disaster was about to happen.

Smart kid.

Arthur lets himself in, relieved not to see Molly inside, Dutch is sitting at the small table in the middle staring at a map of the country. The air is thick with tension, most likely leftover from his argument with Hosea, and it makes the tent feel hotter than what it is. 

“I had a  _ plan _ ,” Dutch suddenly says, voice cold and angry “A plan that would have gotten us everything we needed to get us out of here, but you just  _ wouldn’t listen _ .”

That anger from earlier, the raging storm pulsing in his veins, the molten tidal wave that threatened to consume Arthur, that same rage that he’d felt in Rhodes with Sean, or when Micah leered over Monroe. He thought it had faded earlier, in light of seeing Jack and Monroe were okay despite everything, but it seems to whip back around full force- an intense emotional whiplash that surprises him. 

He’s shocked he doesn’t combust on the spot.

“ _ What plan, Dutch? _ ” He roars, startling the older man “The plan that almost got us killed in Blackwater, or in Valentine when you decided to piss off Cornwall? Was all this shit with these families and being played for  _ goddamn fools  _ by both a part of your plan? They almost killed Sean today, and we almost lost Jack too!”

Dutch looks like he needs a moment to take in Arthur’s outburst, seeing how in twenty years Arthur had hardly ever raised his voice at the man. He settles on an expression of stony disappointment, and Arthur wonders when Dutch became so easy to see through.

“Where’s your  _ goddamn faith _ , Arthur?” He hollers back, standing up with enough force to knock his chair back “All I ask is for you to  _ trust me _ , yet all you do is doubt and complain, or run off when it’s convenient for you. Now you’ve got some woman in your head,  _ again _ , filling it with nonsense and turning my own son against me!”

“She ain’t got nothin’ to do with this Dutch,” Arthur warns “We was gonna butt heads over this eventually. You’re just goin’ to get everyone killed, and for what? There was never any gold!”

Arthur’s not sure what’s going to happen, he can’t see past this moment, but he does know that he can’t back down. His family is depending on him in a way they can’t depend on Dutch anymore, they look to Arthur to keep them safe and provided for. If he gives in here, he’ll lose what little standing he has left, and then what?

There isn’t anything for them here, not anymore, not since Blackwater and they started going  _ backwards  _ from where they were promised. They’ll have to start over, move on from this lifestyle and it’s dangers, away from the Pinkertons, away from other gangs, away from all of it.

Away from  _ Dutch _ .

There’s no ending where they make it, they’ll all be captured or die, Jack will lose his parents, probably won’t make it past boyhood, and he doesn’t even want to  _ think  _ about what would happen to the girls. 

“I always figured it’d be John who turned on me,” Dutch spits “Never thought you’d be the one to betray me, betray  _ us _ , like this.”

“This isn’t betrayal,” Arthur feels like he’s breathing out steam, his insides burning with anger as he stares down the man in front of him “My family needs me, I’ve got to protect them.”

He knows these words will sit Dutch off, and he can see the fury in those dark eyes- Arthur was never supposed to have anything without Dutch, and everything he did have was supposed to ultimately belong to Dutch. 

The way he spoke made it clear: Dutch had no claim here.

“ _ Your  _ family?” Dutch questions with a cold huff of amusement “This is  _ my  _ camp,  _ my  _ people, and  _ I  _ have done everything for all of us! You’d all be dead if it wasn’t for  _ me _ !” 

Arthur stands up tall, looming over Dutch with a height difference he hadn’t realized was there, fists balled as he shows self restraint towards a man just a few months ago he’d worshipped.

“And soon we’ll all be dead  _ because of you _ . We’re not looking for nowhere to start a better life, not anymore, you’ve got us in the thick of danger tryin’ to prove you’re somethin’ you’re not.” He sighs, 

He doesn’t wait to hear anything else, turning sharp on his heel and storming from the tent and straight to his cot. There’s a set of bags that he snatches up and begins to aggressively shove clothing into, ignoring the flaring pain in his shoulder, making sure to also grab his spare ammunition and the items off his bedside table. He’s careful with the flower, despite his anger, not wanting to break the glass case, he wraps it in a soft shirt just in case, along with his mother’s photograph. He leaves the newspaper clipping of his first bank heist, the pictures of Mary in his chest, he leaves them there with the life he’s through with. Arthur stares at the pictures he’s got pinned to the wagon wall of his tent, the ones of his father, Lyle, of him, Dutch and Hosea all them years ago, and his dog Copper.

It all feels like a lifetime ago, it’s a bittersweet pain to remember when they weren’t as broken as they are now, and he takes them because he can’t not.

“You’re really leaving?” It’s Hosea, walking up gingerly, he’s haggard but his eyes are full of relief. He’s been waiting for this, Arthur realizes, waiting for Arthur to get some sense and get out before it was too late. 

“Not alone,” He murmurs, thumbing the photo of the three of them. “The girls and Jack are coming, John, Sean and Charles, too. Plenty of room for more, though.”

Hosea sighs, sitting on Arthur’s cot “That’s a lot of folks,” He says “I don’t think Dutch’s going to let them go.”

“Dutch ain’t God, Hosea, no matter how hard he tries, and they deserve better.” Arthur gestures to the rest of the camp “This ain’t livin’, it's just another day of not  _ dyin’ _ .”

The old man looks at Arthur as if seeing him in a new light, proud of the man his son’s become “You’re right, Arthur, I’ll consider your offer, but, for now,” He puts his hands on his knees in emphasis “I think I’ll stay behind and help the young and able get out without anyone catching on too soon. Black Bone, right?”

Arthur feels his throat clog with emotion, and he coughs into his fist to clear it “Thank you.” He manages 

“No,” Hosea shakes his head, looking at Arthur with too shiny eyes “Thank you, my boy.”

Arthur walks away then, knowing he’ll do something foolish if he doesn’t, bags slung over his shoulder as he walks back to Magnolia. He notices Taima is hitched next to her, packed up with Charles’ equally meager belongings, and he grins at the man waiting for him. Monroe is sprawled across Galahad’s expansive back, wearing an oversized blue patterned shirt he knows belongs to Charles, she sits up when he approaches and beams at him.

“Finally!” She crows, righting herself in the saddle.

“Hold up!” 

They turn and see Sadie walking up to them, John and his family in tow, they’re all packed up as well 

“Where do you think you’re going without  _ us _ ?” She quips, cocking a hip

Monroe looks excited, most likely because she’s glad Jack’s leaving after the Braithwaite fiasco, but Arthur is also sure it has to do with Sadie’s jeans. He’s glad, Monroe should know there are strong women out there like her who don’t conform to society’s prejudices.

Arthur is surprised Dutch hasn’t shown up yet, still in his tent, but he ignores that in favor of helping pack up horses, along with the stares from others in the camp. He explains it’ll be a longer trip, nothing they haven’t done before, though, and Abigail whispers to Arthur that the money he gave her is split and packed between her John, and Charles’ bedrolls.

He mounts Magnolia and catches Monroe frowning deep in thought, concerned with something, and Arthur asks if she’s alright.

“Huh?” She blinks at him before registering his questions “Oh, yeah! It’s just, um..” She fidgets some

Arthur arches his brow at her, prompting her to continue as he saddles up himself.

“I only have one guest room.” She mumbles, and Arthur laughs good naturedly 

“That’s fine,” He assures her as they all begin riding out “John and his family can use it, Charles and Sadie’ll be fine in the barn- they’re animals anyways.”

“I  _ heard  _ that,” Sadie calls out, riding up next to them “And where are  _ you  _ gonna sleep, Morgan, with the horses?” 

“Naw, ‘course not,” He waves her off, seeing an opportunity and taking it “I’ll be in Monroe’s bed.”

Sadie and Abigail scold Arthur for being so crude, but he’s too busy laughing at Monroe for nearly riding Galahad into a tree in her shock. She’s able to compose herself save for the vibrant flush across her cheeks when she says:

“You snore like a bear, so Charles can sleep with me and  _ you  _ can sleep in the barn.”

“What? I do not!” Arthur defends, swatting at John when the bastard laughs at him

“Charles is a real gentleman.” Sadie tuts “He’s the best option, you, on the other hand,” She gives Arthur a teasing smirk “I don’t know if we can trust you with our sweet darlin’ Monroe here.”

Arthur sputters, feeling the tables turning fast “She’s worse than me!” 

“ _ Arthur! _ ” Monroe gasps, scandalized, and if Arthur didn’t know her better he would’ve thought she was genuine.

“I think I’ll fare better in the barn,” Charles chuckles “Monroe seems to be a lot to handle, Arthur can have that challenge.”

“She  _ did  _ bite a man’s finger off.” John adds

“Among other things.” Arthur unhelpfully tacks on

“Why, I  _ never. _ ” Monroe huffs, turning up her nose before dissolving into a fit of giggles with the rest of them.

“I like this, momma” Jack chimes in “I haven’t heard anyone laugh this much in a long time.”

“Me too, Jack,” Abigail hums “Me too.”

Arthur smiles, wishing he still had his hat to hide it under, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest that he didn’t know was possible. There’s a lightness in the air that hasn’t been there in years, even if they don’t have all the answers right now, even if they’re moving ahead of schedule with nowhere to go but Monroe’s nearly finished homestead. There’s no fear, no paranoia, just a breath of fresh air and the feeling of family and the promise of tomorrow.

For the first time in a long time, they had  _ hope _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curious question for no particular reason:
> 
> Oliver or Nathaniel?
> 
> Comment down below!


	10. Towards New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur begins to lay down the foundation of his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! Over ONE THOUSAND hits??? You guys! ( Q u Q ) I love you so much, and I hope this chapter really lets y’all know that. 
> 
> I’m so grateful for your continued support and kind words, I wish I could squeeze your cute faces. 
> 
> Now, why we’re all here: our cowboah and his well deserved happily ever after. This chapter is one of my favorites, and you’ll see why.
> 
> Also! Has anyone else watched SoundsLikePizza’s Morgan Arthur RDR2 RP? Please do if you haven’t! It’s amazing.
> 
> As always, no beta, all mistakes are my own I’m a grammatical mess.
> 
> Enjoy <3

Arthur wasn’t sure what he was expecting, having everyone packed into Monroe’s home, but he wasn’t expecting this.

He’s spent the last few nights in Monroe’s overly furnished living room, sleeping on a ridiculous amount of pillows and throws, with King on his feet. Charles was there as well, having fallen prey to Monroe’s manipulations and caving into sleeping in the house instead of outside. It should’ve been harmless, Arthur muses, but it bothered the man in a way he didn’t like.

_ “You’re not  _ actually  _ sleeping out there, are you?” She’d asked after their first dinner together, gesturing to Charles’ bedroll under his arm. _

_ “It’s no trouble.” Charles had reassured her, giving a small smile, but the woman wasn’t having it. There was a gleam in her eye that Arthur  _ knew  _ spelled trouble, and Arthur hid a smirk behind his hand as they all watched. _

_ Monroe cocked her hip and crossed her arms, looking every bit like a scolding housewife “Charles Smith,” She started, and Arthur can see the moment Charles realized he was in trouble “This is  _ my  _ house, and  _ you _ are  _ my  _ guest, what kind of host would I be if I let you sleep outside with the animals?” _

_ Charles tried to pack pedal, but Monroe rolled right over him “How am I supposed to be okay with letting you help finish building around here if I know you’re out there sleeping on the ground while everyone else is safe and warm inside?” Her bottom lip pokes out, giving her a soft vulnerability that even makes Arthur weak and he’s not even the one being looked at. _

_ There’s something to be said about the tenacity of this woman. _

_ “You only have one guest room,” Charles pointed out, but there’s a crack in his voice, the sudden shift in Monroe from assertive to sullen affecting him “And John and his family are staying there, Sadie’s sharing your room, and Arthur’s on the couch. There’s just not enough room, you didn’t plan to have us all here this soon, it’s not your fault.” _

_ It was sound logic, and Charles looked satisfied with his words, but Monroe didn’t. She walked up to Charles, leaning forward into his space, the man’s eyes darted about in a call for help that went unanswered.  _

_ Arthur felt his jaw twitch, but it wasn’t in amusement. _

_ She stared at him long and hard, making the man more uncomfortable as the moment dragged, but neither of them moved. There was something, however, something that made Monroe’s lips curve in victory before she slunk off past him, her smile too sharp to be safe.  _

_ “You’re in trouble now, Charles.” Sadie teased, the man rolling his eyes in return _

_ “I’ve gotta say,” John looked at Arthur with a chuckle “You sure know how to pick ‘em.” _

_ Arthur huffed out a laugh, shoving John good naturedly, but didn’t correct him. _

_ “I think it’s sweet,” Abigail chimes in, wiping food from Jack’s face “How much she cares, but God knows Arthur also needs someone able to corral him.” Everyone laughed at Arthur who flushed red and grumbled curses at them. _

_ They stopped talking when a loud thud echoed down the hall, followed by a rather profane string of curses. Arthur is the first to find Monroe, half buried under a heap of thick blankets, Bear and King tugging at them like a game. _

_ “What happened here?” He asked, brows raised high as he helped pick up the bedding, Charles close behind to offer Monroe a hand up. _

_ Monroe yanked a blanket from King, the dog whining at his loss “Tripped over a boot, it’s one of my brother’s, that jerk.” She huffed before taking Charles’ hand and standing up “He always leaves  _ something  _ here and the dogs always find it.” _

_ “Are you okay?” Charles asked, looking her over for injuries, and something ugly in Arthur twisted at how close the two were. _

_ “I’m fine, just a little sore,” Monroe mused, but she wasn’t letting go of Charles’ hand, he man trapped “I’d be better if you’d stay inside, though.” She batted her eyelashes subtly, her doe eyes shining, making Arthur seethe.  _

_ “I got all these extra pillows and such, too, figured you could make like a floor bed at least- or share the couch with Arthur.” She explained, picking up a pillow larger than her and fluffing it enticingly at the two men. _

_ Charles relented soon after, most likely unable to handle any more of the woman’s antics, Monroe hopping in excitement before running off with the bedding into the living room, dogs hot on her heels, chattering away about the most effective ways to make a comfortable pallet on the floor. _

_ Arthur looked at Charles who was looking at Arthur “Do you know what just happened?” Charles asked _

_ “Nope,” Arthur shrugged “She’s different, easier to just roll with it.” _

_ They walked back in silence, finding Jack on the floor with Monroe spreading blankets and pillows across the floor while trying to keep Bear from stealing pillows. Little Jack is in stitches, giggling wildly as he plays with the large dog, and, despite how excited the boy is, Bear stays gentle in his playing.  _

_ Before long they have a thick layer of blankets on the floor, supported by the thicker pillows, it’s plush and easy to sink into, and Arthur couldn’t feel the hardness of the floor beneath him. He and Charles agree they’ll swap each night between sleeping on the bed and the pallet, both places more than comfortable for the men.  _

_ “Isn’t this so much nicer than out on that dirty barn floor?” Monroe asked, sprawled across the floor next to Charles, Arthur was watching from the couch feeling like a storm cloud had settled over him. _

_ He didn’t like that closeness, and he didn’t know why. _

_ Charles laughed and admitted it was much nicer than most places he’d slept, the man looking lighter than he had in months, and Arthur felt like an  _ ass  _ for being so foul minded. _

Arthur sighs from his spot at the fence line, pausing pounding the hammer into posts to grit his teeth against the thoughts. He’s almost finished the fencing, just a handful more posts to go, Monroe having told him the plan for the fence was to separate the property into multiple paddocks. The front of the house had already been mostly finished, the left of the house sectioned off for stables and horse field, and the right for the barn, smokehouse, and shed. The front was left mainly open, save the main fence line around the property, and it was filled with plump hens and baby chicks- no rooster though, Monroe telling him a fox had gotten it.

The back of the property was bigger than Arthur had recalled from his time building the porch, he’d asked what she had planned to do with it all when he’d seen it the other day.

“I met a man who has pigs that graze, instead of rooting the ground,” Monroe had told him, excited “They’ve got the cutest noses and they’re so  _ round _ , and their bacon is  _ amazing.  _ I want thirty.”

So pig pens he built.

Charles had given him the idea to make something where he could rotate the animals from paddock to paddock, keeping them from destroying the ground. It was a great idea, Arthur grateful for the other man’s insight, even if he couldn’t quite let go of that angry gnawing in his gut.

The rest of the property was left more open, Monroe moving her garden to behind the house so the back wasn’t so fenced off and awkward to maneuver. There are three paddocks, one to the left and right, bordering the front two, then one at the very back right before the tree line. It gave Monroe a backyard and kept it from getting too crowded.

Arthur was finishing the main fence line, deciding to expand it just to ward off unwanted company, but his constant unwanted thoughts about Charles and Monroe kept distracting him. He wipes the sweat from his brow before continuing to swing his hammer, each heavy thus accompanied by an image of Charles too close to the young woman.

He doesn’t realize his mistake until Sadie’s hollering at him for it.

“The hell that post do to you?” She calls as she walks over to him, jerking the man from his spiraling thoughts, Arthur is confused until he notices the large split down the wood.

He hadn’t even  _ heard  _ the wood crack, Arthur sighs heavily, tossing his hammer aside and all but rips the post from the ground. Sadie gives a low whistle, standing a little ways away to avoid getting hit “Abigail was right, you are in a foul mood.” She comments unhelpfully.

“Was there somethin’ you needed?” Arthur doesn’t snap, but it’s a close thing, though Sadie waves it off easily enough.

“In fact, yes,” She tells him “Charles and I scoped out that ranch you’d found, turns out it’s full of O’Driscolls.”

Arthur stiffens, remembering Colm and feeling as if the mostly healed wound in his shoulder was threatening to tear open. He’d barely been allowed to build the fence, Monroe demanding he at least allow her to check the stitches every few hours. He’s grateful he’s always tended to heal up quicker than most, seeing as how he would’ve gone damn near crazy if he’d had to have stayed cooped up while everyone else worked.

It had been John who found where they’d been keeping him, Lone Mule Stead, he’d also found Arthur’s satchel and hat. His journal was still intact, even if what little money he kept on himself was gone along with all the goods Monroe had given him. John was a good brother, Arthur had told him as much when he thanked him, and while they weren’t perfect, they were getting there 

“So what?” He asks “You wanna go clear ‘em out?”

“Well, yeah,” Sadie says as if it’s obvious, and it is “But I was thinkin’ we’d use it to our advantage.” 

Arthur quirks a brow, prompting her to continue “Folks been complainin’ about how much trouble they’ve caused, figured the bank would appreciate us clearing out the property.” She leaves the rest to Arthur who pieces it together.

“Now,” She decides, picking up Arthur’s hammer “Let's finish this fence then go buy us a ranch.”

The mood is considerably lighter.

Sadie doesn’t talk much as they wrap up the fence, or when they get the horses ready to ride out, she’s even gracious enough not to tease Arthur for jogging inside to let Monroe know they’re heading out.

“Be safe, and keep out of trouble.” Monroe tells him, leaning up on the balls of her feet to peck his cheek before he leaves, Arthur once again wishing he could just kiss her like he means it. Abigail’s in the room, however, watching them with a glimmer in her eyes that makes Arthur feel  _ too  _ soft in the moment. So he settles for brushing his thumb across the near faded bruise on her cheek and making no such promise, leaving the two women laughing as he leaves.

It’s when they’re almost out of the woods that Sadie makes Arthur choke on his own breathing.

“I was worried we’d hear a lot you and Monroe when I’d taken sharin’ her room from you, but hell, even  _ I’m  _ disappointed in your lack of, well,  _ anything _ .” 

Arthur is pretty sure he’s going to die on his horse, seeing how that’s when everyone tries to kill him.

“And what’s got you so pissed off?” Sadie continues “Do you  _ need _ to give you a night with her, ‘cause I’m sure I can convince everyone to leave-”

“Mrs. Adler,” Arthur wheezes “ _ Please stop _ .”

She looks at him like he’s lost his mind “You’re tellin’ me this ain’t got nothing to do with that poor girl moonin’ over your like you hang the damn stars yet you barely even touch her? Come on, Arthur, I see the way you look at her too!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, hard, praying this conversation doesn’t continue where it’s going “It ain’t like that.” He sighs, hoping he’s only lying a little.

“Bull.  _ Shit. _ ” Sadie calls him out “I’ve seen you cuttin’ them looks at Charles lately, and it’s only when he’s with  _ her,  _ so cut the crap and tell me what’s going on. I was  _ married,  _ happily too, if you don’t remember.”

Arthur sighs  _ again _ , he’s been doing that a lot lately, but he looks over at Sadie and tells her the truth

“She was too.”

“ _ What _ ?” Sadie almost screeches “No way!”

He nods “I’m pretty sure her folks married her off real young to a bad feller, she ran away here a few years ago.” 

“So, what?” She asks “You think she’s some fragile flower who doesn’t understand you’re a big bad killer, and that she’s gonna get scared of you if you do something?”

Arthur’s silence speaks for him.

“Get over yourself, Morgan,” She huffs “That girl can see straight through your dangerous outlaw front. She ain’t scared of you in the slightest.”

“I know,” He murmurs “And that’s what worries me.”

Sadie’s expression softens some, understanding clear in her eyes “Monroe cares, Arthur, so much so that she took in a buncha criminals because we mean somethin’ to you. I doubt she’s lookin’ to change you, she wants the man you  _ are _ , not the man you think you need to be.” 

Arthur chuckles, but it’s wet and weak “When’d you get so wise?” He jokes, making her roll her eyes 

“I’ve always been smarter than all y’all men, all women are.” She sniffs with an air of superiority

“Right you are, Mrs. Adler, right you are.” He laughs

“Now,” Sadie is all business once again “What's Charles got to do with all this?”

“You’ve really got no tact, do you?” He huffs in amusement, but Sadie just gives him a hard look

“Alright, fine,” He groans “I just don’t like how  _ close  _ they are sometimes, and how- how  _ easy  _ it is for them” 

It’s a harsh admission, Arthur feeling like a fool for even saying it, but Sadie doesn’t ridicule him for his thinking.

“Well that’s probably because they ain’t interested in one another, for one,” She explains “And two, Monroe’s real  _ touchy. _ ”

“ _ Touchy _ ?” Arthur echoes with a frown, not sure this is making him feel any better.

“Yeah,” Sadie waves her hand in emphasis “Explains all the pillows and cozy stuff, she probably ain’t ever had much affection growing up. Now she’s got folks who’re kind to her and she ain’t alone no more, plus, I’ve woken up three times now with her clingin’ to me like a monkey.”

Arthur recalls thinking something similar when he’d first seen her home, but he hadn’t given it much thought since, and their conversation at the tree swing. It was all  _ right there _ , yet Arthur didn’t see it because he was too worried about the wrong things.

“I’ve been a damned fool.” He sighs, bone deep and weary

“No you haven’t.” Sadie assures him “Nobody’s  _ good  _ at fallin’ in love, me and my Jakey took a lot of work between us, and just look at John and Abigail- what matters is that you don’t give up.”

He chuckles, knowing she’s right, and he looks out at the sky ahead with a new sense of understanding, the doubts that chew at him ebbing away as they ride. He wasn’t ready to admit he was falling for Monroe, the prospect of love was still terrifying, but Sadie was right.

“I’m taking to couch tonight,” Sadie declares “I can’t handle too much more  _ cuddlin’ _ .” She says it like it's a dirty word, making Arthur laugh.

They end up back in Strawberry, Arthur didn’t even know the town  _ had  _ a bank, but there it was tucked away in the back of town. It’s just as ridiculous and over done as the welcome -visitor? He couldn’t remember- center, but the clerk is a hard woman with a no nonsense disposition.

“We’d like to speak with someone about Hanging Dog Ranch.” Sadie requests, formal and polite in a way he’d never seen, the woman eyes them hard before getting up and walking to the back.

“Think she’s goin’ for the law?” Arthur half jokes, and Sadie knocks his shoulder 

“I  _ have  _ legally bought property before,” She informs him “I know what I’m doin’.”

Arthur ignores the irony of buying from a bank with money he stole from a bank, mainly because Sadie elbows him rather harshly for snickering.

The woman comes back and informs them to go on back to see Mr. Reeds, her tone short and monotonous. They thank you and head back, Arthur ignoring the woman’s shrewd glances. 

Mr. Reeds is a short man with thinning white hair and large hands, Arthur feels like a giant even more so than usual in the room. He shakes their hands with an air of politeness that is natural and makes Arthur feel more at ease in the stuffy room. It obviously pleases Sadie to be treated with the same respect as Arthur, which Arthur appreciates as well. 

“I must say,” Mr. Reeds muses with a raspy voice after offering them a seat “I was shocked to hear someone was interested in that old Ranch. It’s been nothing but trouble since that gang took it over, killed every man we sent to clear them out.” 

“Well, Mr. Reeds, we have a proposition for you.” Sadie says as she takes a seat across from the man 

“A proposition?” He asks, looking interested as he leans his elbows on his desk

Sadie nods, gesturing to a still standing Arthur “My friend here is lookin’ to buy the ranch right now and paid in full.”

Mr. Reeds’ eyes bulge at Arthur, obviously taken back at the prospect of someone paying full price for such a large piece of property. He composes himself, though, and looks back at Sadie “What’s your proposition?” He asks smoothly

“We get rid of the squatters, you cut us a deal on the price.” She states matter-o-factly “I doubt you’ve had much business lately with them causin’ all that ruckus anyhow.”

Mr. Reeds eyes them critically before sitting back in his chair “How do I know I can trust you?”

Arthur goes to say something but Sadie beats him to it “We’ll give you half now and half when we’re done, that way, if we die, you still make a pretty penny.”

Arthur doesn’t like that plan, even if he knows they won’t die.

The old man thinks on it, pondering his options before nodding once to himself “I suppose they’re ain’t much else we could do, those no good varmints are bad for business all over Big Valley. I’ll tell you what, Hanging Dog Ranch is a twenty thousand dollar property, but you give me seven grand now and seven when you’re done and it’s all yours.”

Sadie glances back at Arthur, who is thinking it over in his head, that’s not even all the money he’d scored from robbing the bank in Valentine. He’s not completely sure how much money he’d given Abigail, he was too busy collecting it to count it, but at least he knew he could buy the ranch right out no problem.

He nods, trying not to betray any emotion, still used to only standing tall and stoic in the background as an intimidation tactic. Sadie grins, pulling her satchel into her lap and begins thumbing through an obscene amount of money.

“Now, Mister, er…?” Reeds trails off, looking to Arthur himself, needing the man’s name 

“Morgan.” He answers gruffly “Arthur Morgan.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan, there are some papers I’ll need you to sign, such as a bill of sale and the actual deed to the ranch.” The man explains, pulling papers and a pen from a drawer.

“You that confident in us?” He can’t help but chuckle, Mr. Reeds giving a shrug “You don’t get my age without a good bit of discernment, you’ll be back. You won’t get the deed until you do.” Arthur likes this man, he’s honest and kind, and it reminds him of Hosea somewhat.

Sadie puts the money on the desk, seven thousand dollars earned by illegal means and Arthur damn near killing himself, Mr. Reeds counts it out a second time and deems everything in order. Arthur finally takes a seat, skimming over the papers given to him before signing both of them where Sadie tells him while Mr. Reeds put away the money. It’s generic paperwork, typed up with blanks to fill in the important information, but it’s proof of Arthur’s future- the one he’s providing for his family. 

“You two have fun cleaning house now.” Mr. Reeds jokes as Arthur and Sadie leave, the two waving him farewell.

The lady at the front doesn’t so much as glance their way as they step out.

“Let’s go kill us some O’Driscolls.” Sadie crows as they mount back up and ride out.

Arthur shakes his head with amusement “Am I paying fourteen thousand dollars just so you can shoot some sorry bastards?”

Sadie laughs “No, I woulda killed them sons a bitches if you’d bought it or not.”

They cut through the woods this time, shortening their time riding and hopefully giving them the advantage of not being spotted before they arrived.

“I’m surprised Monroe ain’t had no problems with them O’Driscolls, I heard they’ve been harassin’ everyone around these parts.” Sadie comments, chewing on a piece of jerky as they ride

Arthur shrugs, taking a piece when offered “Far as I know she ain’t had none, but between that horse and then dogs I ain’t too surprised.”

“Those are some big animals, I ain’t ever seen a horse that big.” She says “Where’d she even find somethin’ like that?”

“No clue, pretty sure it’s a foriegn breed.” Arthur tries to think of anything like Galahad he’s ever seen, but comes up short past a few shires that even then don’t match up quite. 

“That’s another thing!” Sadie suddenly shouts, nearly startling Arthur “How in the hell does she afford all she’s got? There’s no  _ way  _ she ain’t from some kind of big money.”

Arthur doesn’t like thinking about it, because it’s just another thing he  _ doesn’t know  _ and he hates it. Even though he promised her she could talk to him when she’s ready, there’s more and more questions everyday it feels. He doesn’t want to pry, or push Monroe into talking, but he did wish he knew just a little more so he didn’t have to speculate so much.

Charles had asked him something similar a while back, when he’d shown up at Monroe’s to bring him back, Arthur doesn’t think he gave the man a straight answer that day.

Said it was complicated and left it at that, which wasn’t untrue then and it still isn’t, but he knows Sadie won’t be satisfied.

“I’m not too sure,” He admits “I gather she comes from a well off family, but I don’t think she’s got anything to do with ‘em anymore.”

Sadie hums in thought, but doesn’t push it, they’re too close to the ranch to keep talking anyhow.

Killing O’Driscolls is always the same, lots of yelling and lots of bullets, most of them are drunk which makes them easy targets. Hell, they didn’t even have to  _ sneak _ in, the guards were passed out on the porch and dead before they could react. The rest is familiar chaos, even with Sadie unleashing her revenge on the bastards, and they’re done in under an hour- even with the stiff pain in Arthur’s shoulder slowing his movements.

It’s a bit disappointing, he muses as he climbs the stairs to find Sadie and let her know it’s all clear. What he finds is her gutting a man in a fit of rage, screaming and crying as she rips the man apart with her hunting knife. He waits her out, unbothered by the carnage, idly wondering if he had time to clear out some of the bodies before she was done. 

A few moments later, she stands and spits on the man’s corpse “He killed my Jakey, that one did.” She tells Arthur, wiping blood from her face.

She’s covered in it, actually, her yellow shirt ruined by viscous red, dripping off her and onto the floor.

“You got some, um..” He trails, gesturing to all of her and offering a scarf from his pocket, she rolls her eyes but takes it. Wiping her face off, she tells Arthur to go home and send Charles and John for clean up while she goes and pays Mr. Reeds and gets the deed to the ranch.

He tries to argue that he can help since he’s here, that Sadie should probably be the one to clean up (herself  _ and  _ the house) and Arthur would go back to Strawberry.

“Arthur, get your ass home and rest that shoulder,” Sadie tells him “I  _ know  _ you shot triple the men I did today. Now go on, her home to your little housewife and let her kiss it all better.”

“ _ It ain’t like that.”  _ Arthur flushes down his face and neck, embarrassment making his skin hot, proving himself wrong, and she’s smirking at him like she knows she’s won. He grumbles under his breath about insufferable women but doesn’t argue any further as they leave the now vacated ranch.

Sadie rides off still blood soaked, but she seems a lot better than she did, maybe brutally killing the man who murdered your husband was therapeutic or something. He spends a few minutes tending to Magnolia, brushing out her coat until it’s glistening while letting her munch on a few pears. He pets her for a bit before climbing back in the saddle, praising her for her strength and resilience as they ride out back home.

Funny how one’s home can change so quickly.

While Arthur rides, he decides to sketch from his saddle, the path is clear and there’s hardly ever anyone out on these roads so he’s not risking running into anything. He thumbs to the first empty page, looking past nature sketches and recollections of his past encounters with a mixture of fondness and relief that those days are behind him now.

He settles for sketching the fields of lilac wildflowers that sprawl across this area, beautiful when they sway in the wind. He adds a pronghorn and some rabbit just because, and he enjoys the peace for a little while. On the adjacent page, he writes a few of his thoughts: 

“ _ We’ve been in Black Bone for a few days now, finished building the last of Monroe’s homestead, bought a ranch, killed some O’Driscolls. All in all, it’s been a peaceful few days despite missing folk who haven’t made it out or won’t be coming at all. _

_ It’s nice to be around John and not want to wring his neck for once, seeing him strive as a family man makes me proud in a way I wish Dutch would’ve been. There’s still a long ways to go, but we’ll get there. Together. _

_ I haven’t stopped thinking about Monroe, even though we now live together at the homestead and I see her daily she’s never out of my head. I always feel foolish, wanting Monroe in such ways, even if I know she wants me back I still can’t do anything but chide myself. I probably sound like a broken record, repeating the same thoughts over and over, but they’re the only (appropriate) thoughts I have. _

_They’re telling me it ain’t wrong to want her, they encourage me, and I can see Monroe’s disappointment when I stop short_ _every_ _damn_ _time_ _she comes close. How do I tell her, though? I’m over ten years her elder yet I feel like a boy his first time, over eager and aching to hold her, it’s laughable._

_ To be honest, I’m afraid. _

_ I’m afraid of hurting her, letting her down, letting my family down, I’m afraid Dutch will come for my head and take theirs as well. _

_ What good is all this if I fail them?” _

Arthur tucks away his journal, feeling better now that he’s written 

his worries down, but he knows he has to come to terms with them eventually. They’re nearing the homestead, Arthur can hear Jack playing outside with the dogs and Abigail calling after him to watch out for the chickens. It makes him smile, reminds him why they’re here and why it means so much just to  _ have  _ this. 

He rides into the fenced property, untacking Magnolia and letting her in the pasture with the other horses, and he takes her tack to store it in the completed stables. Arthur makes sure to wash most of the blood off himself at the well pump, he can already hear Monroe scolding him for tracking blood and mud in the house.

_ “Your little housewife…”  _ Sadie’s teasing echoes in his head, making him groan and dunk his head under the water to cool off and drown out her voice. 

He’s stalled enough, and he heads into the house to find John and Charles so he can send them to the ranch. They’re not in the house, Arthur discovers after calling their names, and he’s going to leave when Monroe calls for him from the kitchen.

He decides the two can wait as he makes his way into the other room, seeing Monroe standing at the counter kneading a large mound of dough. He stands there for a moment, taking in the simple cotton made dress she’s so fond of wearing around the house, this one a muted blue with bumblebees stitched into the hem. She’s wearing a plain white apron that’s tied into a neat little bow at her lower back, the loose ribbon curved against her-

He clears his throat roughly, making Monroe look back at him with a bright smile “How was the bank?” She asks, hands still working the dough.

“Fine, Sadie’s picking up the deed, need John and Charles to finish clean up at the ranch.” He explains, willing away warm ears and heated thoughts.

“Wait, so, you got it?” She’s getting excited, he can tell by the shuffle of her feet and how she chews her bottom lip, and Arthur grins at her.

“I got it.”

No sooner than he’s done speaking he’s got an armful of Monroe, she’s making those odd little noises Arthur doesn’t understand yet finds them endearing. She’s being careful of his shoulder, though, leaning more into his left side, and he’s sure she’s going to be looking at his stitches soon.

He holds her for the moment, ignoring the tug of new skin on his shoulder, burying his face into her hair with a deep inhale of peaches. 

“So are you moving over there?” Monroe asks, but doesn’t move from where she’s tucked against him, making Arthur frown “What do you mean?” He asks, unsure of where she’s going.

Monroe shrugs against him “I mean, you’ve got that big ranch now with plenty of room for you and your family, there’s no reason for you to stay here.” Her voice is measured, like she’s trying to hide behind the neutral tone.

Arthur huffs against her hair then pulls back, making sure he can look Monroe in the eye before he talks, her eyes are shiny with emotion and she’s pursing her lips to keep them from wobbling. He’s reminded of how young she is, how she’s experienced more in her lifetime than most women twice her age, and he remembers how Sadie called her  _ touchy _ . She’s been without that, he knows, and he doesn’t want to think of how long it had been before him that someone had been so gentle to her- if  _ anyone  _ before him had. 

“I know I ain’t done what I should have, especially when I promised you we’d start this- together.” He lets his hands slide up to cup her face, his hands large and rough against her soft cheeks, he can feel the warmth beneath her skin seeping into his palms. “I’m still hung up on the same foolishness as before, thinkin’ you’d want me in such a way still seems impossible.”

He’s not one for talking feelings, especially these kinds, but Monroe has a way of making Arthur want to confess at her feet as if she was the altar of his redemption. Maybe he’s the type of man who needs someone to worship, thinking back to all those years with Dutch and his blind faith. Yet, where Dutch took advantage of his devotion, carving Arthur into a man of crippling dependency and self doubt, Monroe seems to piece him back together, rebuilding Arthur into his own man.

He recalls the Brotherhood back in Clemens Point, the grotesque altar made of stone and death, how they prayed on the innocent. He’d never understood how a man could believe in something so strongly he’d commit such horrors, but now he realizes he was that same kind of man- only with a different god and a different morality.

“You saved my life, opened your home to my family, you gave us a  _ future _ , and I ain’t been nothing but a right bastard.”

Monroe squirms some, obviously wanting to object, even now she wants to defend him from himself, when he doesn’t deserve it. It warms Arthur, makes his weary bones feel lighter, knowing that she cares so much. 

“But, if you’ll forgive me one more time, I promise I’ll quit bein’ such a fool.” He murmurs

“You sure you can handle that?” She teases, but her lashes are wet and he can see where tears are ready to spill, and she’s so  _ perfect  _ in this moment he can’t stop himself.

Arthur’s not going to lie, he’s kissed a handful or so women in his lifetime, especially when he was young and dumb, whether he loved them or not wasn’t important. 

Kissing  _ Monroe _ , though, is completely different from everything he remembers, call him a sentimental fool or out of practice, but he wants to shoot himself for waiting so long. It starts chaste, he has at least some sense to try and not get carried away, but she gasps against his mouth and he  _ tastes  _ her- he finds himself kissing her deeper. She tastes like the coffee she drinks with cream and honey, and the blackberries that grow around her property he always finds her eating. She’s warm and soft and  _ eager _ when she kisses him, making him groan deep in his chest, and he’s slowly losing his mind, but he doesn’t find it in him to care. 

He kisses her as if to make up for  _ months  _ wasted, hands wandering down from her face to glide down her neck, his thumb pressing down just so to feel her pulse thrumming against him. His hands settle on her hips, feeling plush skin give under his hands as he pulls her closer. Monroe’s gripping the front of Arthur’s shirt like a lifeline, twisting the fabric between her fingers as she trembles against him. 

It’s not enough, Arthur finds himself needing  _ more _ , the urge to be closer making his blood roar in his ears, and he caves like a sand pillar in a hurricane. Hands trail lower, and Arthur rumbles at the pliant curves he feels, until he finds what he’s looking for and hoists Monroe up by the back of her thighs -Christ, her  _ thighs _ \- and setting her up on the table behind them. He barely registers a noise next to them, part of him says he needs to check, but most of him brushes it off, too caught up in the moment to care about much else. Monroe yelps in surprise, flushed face turning scarlet as Arthur slots himself between her legs and steals her mouth once more.

He braces his hands on her thighs, fingertips barely brushing under the hem of her dress, chasing the feeling of soft skin. The way she pants against him is intoxicating, when he looks at her he sees her eyes are screwed shut and her mouth is slack, her freckle dusted skin is flushed heavily down her neck to her collar and he chases that color with his mouth.

“ _ A-Arthur.. _ ” She stammers, breath hitching when he drags his teeth across her fluttering pulse, making the man groan at how she sounds. 

He kisses the light abrasions his beard causes, basking at how pliant she is in his hands, how she quakes and shivers beneath him, tiny hiccups of overstimulation escaping her.

“We heard a crash is everything-  _ oh. _ ”

The room goes unbearably still, Monroe now rigid against him and Arthur wants to hurl Marston out the goddamn  _ window _ .

“We’ll, uh, leave you to it then.” Charles coughs, and Arthur has never wanted the floor to open and swallow him as much as he does now. He stands up straight, angling his stance to keep Monroe from view before looking at John and Charles, the two men standing there looking scandalized.

He rolls his eyes at them, sighing loud and heavy “Don’t act like it ain’t nothing you never done before, now get, Sadie wants you at the ranch for clean up.” He waves them off and they’re gone faster than they came. 

Arthur looks back at Monroe who’s hiding her face in his chest and shaking, concern overtakes him “Are you alright?” 

Monroe looks up at him, and Arthur watches as the little giggles she was trying to suppress turn into a fit of laughter that’s infectious enough to get him laughing as well. She leans into Arthur as she calms down, breathing a deep sigh of contentment against him “How’s your shoulder?” She asks softly.

“Fine, little sore, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” He tells her, deciding to comb his fingers through the loose curls of her hair, she hums as he does so.

“Good,” She pauses “I’ve probably ruined that dough.” She sighs, only sounding a little put out.

“And whatever we knocked on the floor.” Arthur adds with a chuckle, Monroe groans dramatically at that “I spent  _ forever  _ picking those berries for jam, Arthur, you brute.” 

He shrugs “I’ll pick you more.”

Monroe wiggles against him until she can sit up and look around, there’s jam and glass splattered across the floor and the dough looks dry and wilted. He hears her murmur “ _ Worth it _ .” Under her breath before she looks back at Arthur, she looks sated and putty-like.

“Help me clean up before dinner?” She asks, lips curled in soft satisfaction 

Arthur presses a small, chaste kiss to those lips just because he can, and feels her smile against him.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! These two were K I L L I N G me!
> 
> Charles and Monroe BFF’s? Yes please <3
> 
> Also: Oliver won by a LANDSLIDE, but why? Dunno. Wait and see, I guess.


	11. An Easy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a day out, getting dogs, and sticking your foot in your mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen- I hate this chapter, well, I don’t HATE it, but it’s just awful and it didn’t want to cooperate at all. Nothing wanted to work but I needed a filler to prep for the next few chapters, so yeah, even after DAYS of frustration and editing it’s still the worst thing I’ve written so far (TT ~ TT)
> 
> I hope it’s at least semi-okay, though, I mean you get Arthur and Monroe fluff and puppies and an exasperated John.
> 
> The next few chapters will be so much better I swear!
> 
> I love you guys, and appreciate all your love and support, so please forgive me!

Hanging Dog Ranch is coming together quite nicely, it only took a few weeks to get the place completely cleaned and all the repairs done. There are Pronghorn  _ everywhere,  _ meaning they had plenty of food stored up thanks to Charles’ hunting prowess and Monroe and Abigail’s efficiency in canning and preserving. The only downside is that all the furniture is dry rotted and moldy from age and abuse, so it was all hauled off and burned. They’re going to have to buy new furniture for everyone, and Arthur ain’t a fan of shopping, so he tells Charles he’s in charge of buying what they need for inside the ranch and the adjacent cabins. 

“What about outside the ranch?” John asks while him and Arthur are out in the fields “We gotta have animals, right?”

Arthur looks around the property, it’s the main ranch house and four cabins along with a large barn with attached stables- they’d found a rather large stash of money hidden in there from the O’Driscolls. There weren't a lot of fence, but it wasn’t like fence was hard to build, and John’s right, they need animals or they won’t make a living out here. He rubs his chin in thought, Monroe’s got her chickens at home and she’s expecting her piglets in a couple months, and she’s already made it clear they’re staying with her. He sighs, not sure what to tell John when Magnolia May catches his eye from across the field and he feels an idea forming in his mind- an idea that just might work.

“Horses.” He says, but John only frowns at him “Pardon?”

“Horses, John, we can keep horses here. We know how much a good horse is worth to most folks, and it won’t be a new animal we gotta fool around with learnin’ about.” He explains, and John lights up as he catches on 

“You’re right.” He grins “Hey, ain’t you got ranch experience anyhow? Gettin’ livestock too wouldn’t be a problem.”

Arthur nods “I know a bit about sheep and cattle, but we’d have to get them from somewhere other than Valentine after our last venture to the auction.”

It wasn’t his proudest moment, back in Valentine. 

They discuss where they’d have to put up fence to separate the livestock, making sure to include somewhere to keep pregnant cows and calves safe from bulls. As they sort through what they need for supplies, something else comes to Arthur’s mind.

“We’re gonna need some dogs to keep with the animals, keep ‘em safe and herded on the property.” He says, thinking over what would be their best options.

“Why not ask Monroe where she got her monsters from? I ain’t seen so much as a opossum around her place with them two.” John suggests, and Arthur agrees it’s a good idea to ask “Probably get different a breed, though, them two ain’t much for herdin’.”

Monroe is inside the main building of the property, sitting on a tarp, and covered in paint, Sadie’s with her but far less painted on. Arthur’s not sure what’s going on, Monroe hadn’t explained what she was doing inside when they’d ridden over to the ranch that morning. He just knew she’d been excited since the other day and was content with that, until now seeing how he was wondering that happened in the few hours he was with John. 

Sadie looks at the two men, Monroe still immersed in whatever it is she’s painting on, he’s pretty sure it’s an old chest that they kept during the clean out in the beginning. 

“We’re reburbishin’ some of the things we were able to save, but your lady here keeps tryin’ to paint  _ flowers  _ on everything.” She gripes, and Monroe looks at the other woman to huff at her “Well  _ sorry  _ I don’t appreciate the destitution of dark, boring, colors like the rest of you.”

Sadie flicks paint at her, adding to the mess on her, well,  _ everything.  _

That explains it.

Arthur chuckles, watching Monroe wipe the pain from her hair with a flat expression that Sadie met with a smirk.

“Well how about you leave the  _ destitution  _ to Sadie for now, John and I need you for a bit.” He offers.

Monroe lights up in a way that Arthur doubts will ever not make his breath catch, throwing the paint brush at Sadie as she stands and ignoring the other woman’s loud curse.

“Let me get changed, and I’m all yours.” She winks, making Arthur’s ears warm and he feels her fingers graze his forearm as she walks by. The skin there sparks with goosebumps and heat, just like every time she’s done this, those little touches like silent pleas for  _ more  _ that make Arthur feel like he might rip out of his own skin in desperation.

Ever since Arthur finally burned his reservations and kissed Monroe those weeks ago, she’s been the  _ worst  _ and he’s damn sure she knows what she’s doing.

He kisses her of his own accord now, not as frequently as he’d like because Sadie and John are terrible about it, chaste ones when he’s running out the door or long ones he can bask in when there’s no one to tease him. She’s thrilled every time he leans into her space, her lips curling in satisfaction when she presses them against his. It was nice, a warm contentment burrowing deeper in Arthur’s chest every day, bringing a joy in his life he’d always told himself he didn’t deserve.

Recently, however, things started to change.

It started with these  _ touches _ , small, fleeting things against him that left him reeling despite how innocent they seemed, and Arthur thought maybe he was imagining it-

Until one evening in the kitchen.

It was a normal evening, they were all wrapping up dinner with idle chatter and Arthur was soaking in the domesticity he’d always wanted growing up with a small smile. He was forever grateful that he had his family with him, that they were safe and happy and well on their way to a better future. He watched Jack swing his feet while he talked around a mouthful of pie, explaining his latest adventure with Bear and King in the woods to everyone. It was a fun story, full of Jack’s colorful imagination, Abigail watching him with bright eyes, and Arthur was glad she could raise her boy safely. 

Monroe sat at the side of the table to his left, petting Bear’s head in her lap and feeding him bits of gristle until he’s satisfied and trots off elsewhere. She caught him watching her and gave him a small smile of acknowledgement before turning back to listen to Jack, crossing one leg over the other.

The movement looked innocuous, but Arthur’s been with Monroe enough to know that she crossed her ankles so she could tuck her feet under the chair. With her legs crossed like that, the skirt of her cotton dress (he still had no clue where she got them from, he’d never seen them in any store or any other woman wear them) slid up her thigh to reveal the plush skin underneath and Arthur nearly choked on his sharp intake of breath. He’d felt those thighs a few times, when he’d get carried away and his hands would travel, mostly through the fabric of her riding pants or the couple of times his fingers had brushed under the hem of her dress.  _ Seeing them  _ was a different thing entirely, being able to look and perfectly imagine his hands there made Arthur’s blood go hot and his fingers twitch. He felt like he was taking advantage of the situation, staring at Monroe like that when she’s unaware, and he felt like a kid for being so easily excited. 

Arthur was tearing his eyes away from the expanse of skin when he caught Monroe’s expression, the coy curve of her lips and how her half lidded gaze flitted across him until their eyes met. No one was paying them any mind, too engrossed in Jack’s storytelling, as Monroe arched a brow at him in challenge and slowly adjusted her dress- letting Arthur drink in the moment of her hands sliding along plump thighs. There was victory in her eyes, a triumph of what Arthur wasn’t sure, his sanity probably, all he was sure of was that this was the start of trouble.

And he was right. 

It started day in and day out, brief touches and brushing against him, kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw that lit his blood on  _ fire _ , and moments of Monroe teasing Arthur from across the room only for the woman to act completely innocent the next.

Arthur was going mad.

Like now, he has to physically shake himself from his thoughts, hoping he hasn’t been too obvious in his weakness, but luckily Sadie’s still griping about the paint brush. John’s looking at him, though, it seems like a normal glance until his eyes flick down to Arthur’s forearm then back up to his face, as if he knows. Arthur doesn’t react, but he knows John’s been around him long enough to read through the man.

“Where y’all goin’ anyhow?” Sadie cuts in, relieving Arthur

“Gonna go look at some animals for the ranch,” Johns tells her “But we need good dogs first.”

“Why can’t we just use the two we already got?” 

“They ain’t good for herdin’,” Arthur says this time “And they’re not interested in stayin’ here unless Monroe’s around. Not to mention they’ve got a whole homestead to watch.”

Sadie frowns “Still don’t know why y’all are still over there, we got plenty of room here for everyone.” 

“That place is her life, she built it from the ground upstairs with all she had, and it ain’t nobody’s place to tell her to leave it.” He says “Also, I don’t think you’d be able to handle her all the time, she’s a handful.” It’s a tease, and Sadie rolls her eyes at him.

“Oh, I’ve heard how you  _ handle _ that handful.” Sadie leers at him, smirking as Arthur feels his face go warm “You had a pretty good hand on her in the barn the other day, if I ain’t mistaken.”

John is choking on his laughter, watching Arthur willing the floor to swallow him while he wheezes, and Arthur hated them both. He remembers that, unable to help himself and sure that everyone else was off minding their own business as he crowded Monroe against the barn wall back home. He recalls the press of his thumbs against the exposed skin of her hips when her shirt rode up, how she giggled when his beard tickled her skin, and how Sadie barged into the barn like she barges into everything. 

If Arthur had a nickel for every time they’d been walked in on and interrupted, he’d have bought Tahiti and put everyone on it.

He sighs heavily, every bit the exasperated man he feels “That’s enough outta you.” He tells her, waving her off as she snickers at him like the she-devil she is.

Monroe walks back in a moment later, hair damp but paint free, in clean tan riding pants and a green cotton shirt “I’m ready when you are.” 

Arthur’s out the door within the minute, ignoring John's amusement and Sadie’s teasing, Monroe visibly confused by their antics.

“So,” She asks as they’re pulling out on the wagon, Galahad lugging the weight with ease “Where are we going?”

“Need some dogs, gotta get them on the property and ready before we can get livestock.” John says from the back of the wagon “Figured you’d be our best help.”

Monroe nods, braiding her hair down her scalp in practiced movements as she talks “Well, I got Bear and King in two different places. I found King at some weird voodoo lady’s house, she was trying to eat him, and Bear was given to me by some odd foreign fellow who told me if I didn’t have a husband to protect me I needed a damn good dog. He wasn’t wrong.” She shrugs at the last part, unaware of the two men gaping at her. 

Arthur blinks “I think I misheard you,” He says “A  _ voodoo  _ woman and a strange man gave you your dogs?”

Monroe furrows her brow “You've told weirder tales.”

“Just surprised is all,” He amends, “We was expecting you to have bought them for your property.”

“Nope,” She pops her ‘p’ “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know where to buy good dogs, my family’s always been a snob when it comes to animals. So, I know a few places to go.”

“Is that how you got Galahad?” John asks, gesturing to the the stallion

Monroe looks at the blue roan beast, there’s something sad about her smile but it’s not the right time for Arthur to ask “Yeah, he’s from overseas, actually, I got him when he was a colt. No one had any idea he’d get so big.”

Big is an understatement, Arthur feels, Galahad is easily twenty hands high and three thousand pounds, this animal is a powerhouse. 

John looks over at Arthur with wide eyes and Arthur simply shrugs in response.

“We won’t get anything like that,” Monroe assures John, amused by his reaction “I know a lady in Blackwater.”

There’s no reassurance “We, uh, we’re not too popular Blackwater.” Arthur tries to be subtle, as if Monroe doesn’t know they’re wanted men with Galahad sized bounties. She frowns, thinking something over before taking a deep breath “You’ll be fine as long as you're with me.”

“What’s that mean?” It’s John again, but there’s an edge to his voice.

Monroe adjusts in the wagon bench “It means people are prone to assumptions and paranoia, two big armed men like yourself are bound to attract the wrong attention.” John goes to object but Monroe continues “But if you add a soft young woman to the mix, suddenly you’re strong protectors keeping her safe from conmen and rustlers.”

Arthur nods, understanding what she’s saying “And if the law recognizes us?” He can’t help but ask 

“Then you’re officially pardoned and in witness protection under the authority of Elliot Bishop and the U.S Government in regards to the Van der Linde gang.” She shrugs, as if she’s already thought this out, making Arthur reel.

Elliot Bishop? Why did he sound familiar?

A flash of auburn hair and green eyes accompanied by a gentleman’s smile and a silver badge crosses his mind, a man whom seemed familiar when they met and now Arthur realizes its the slightly buttoned noses and clean green eyes. Monroe had said her brother was a lawman, but he hadn’t been concerned since he doubted they’d ever meet.

Yet they  _ had  _ and Arthur had given the man a  _ fake name _ even though he was positive Elliot knew exactly who he was.

Arthur’s going to jump off this wagon and welcome death, pride be damned. 

“Wait,” John interjects, half climbed into the wagon bench “Ain’t none of that true, why would they believe it?”

Monroe shrugs again “By the time they got word back we’d be gone.”

“Sounds good to me, then.” He concedes, flopping back into the back of the wagon.

Arthur wants to ask her about Elliot, curiosity buzzing about, but he decides to wait for a more appropriate time, settling for enjoying the sunny day and how Monroe leans against him as she relaxes for the rest of the ride. 

After a bit, John falls asleep in the wagon, his snoring idle background noise as they ride. Monroe is curled against Arthur’s side, her hand warm on his knee as she talks about the progress she’s made in her garden and how she’s pretty sure the mayor of Strawberry is going to offer her a store in town. Apparently they’d spoken last week when she’d gone to deliver to their grocery store, he said she was doing enough he’d be delighted to see her there permanently. 

“I can’t run a store, though,” She sighs, hand inching up past his knee and making Arthur freeze “Between the homestead and the ranch and my pigs coming in soon, I’m too busy. I don’t have anyone to run it for me either, maybe I should ask around.” She’s idly rubbing circles into Arthur’s lower thigh. 

“May-” He roughly clears his throat “Maybe you could ask Abigail?”

“I already did, she hasn’t learned to read and she wants to focus on building her family and the ranch with John, so instead I asked her if she wanted to learn how to do the things I do at home.” 

Arthur blinks, trying to think past the warmth seeping up his thigh “That’s mighty kind of you.” He manages to compliment, Monroe smiles sweetly at him despite the not so sweet things she’s doing to him. Her fingers knead a little firmer, into the work sore muscle, and he half way stifles a groan at the feeling, trying to keep himself together.

“Well, I mean, she deserves it doesn’t she? After everything you’ve all gone through, the least I can do is help her with learning how to keep house and feed her family.” Her fingers find a particularly overworked muscle and grind down, she’s pressing her lips together against a sly smile “My mother drilled so much of it into me growing up that it’s second nature at this point, but I also like Abigail’s company, so I’m happy to share.”

He’s melting into the wagon bench, the pressure feeling amazing on his aching leg, and the fact that it’s  _ Monroe  _ so blatantly touching him makes him feel overwhelmed. He doesn’t understand how she can so casually drive him crazy, as if touching him like this doesn’t effect her-

Arthur remembers the first time he’d seen her in Rhodes, the night of the saloon shootout, and how she’d hooked her fingers in his belt loops. She’d seemed so confident, smug at his reaction as she played with him and gotten closer than anyone had been in years, but when Arthur pushed back he saw she hadn’t prepared herself for it. It was common, he realized, how easily flustered she really was despite her best efforts to be otherwise, how easily it was to rile her up the same way.

He chuckles under his breath, feeling a bit brazen, and decides that he should be able to push when she pulls.

It’s easy, he figures out, letting his hand settle on her thigh naturally as he leans down to murmur directly in her ear as if he were sharing a secret. The closer he gets, the more inward he cups her thigh, until he’s got the softest part molded against his palm, his hand large against her. Her hand is frozen against him, white knuckles into the fabric of his jeans as her face reddens, he enjoys the moment and lets his lips skin the shell of her ear as he speaks.

“You’re too good to us, Monroe,” He rumbles, feeling her shiver against him “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

He ends it with a soft kiss to her temple before returning to driving the wagon, with one hand so her could keep the other firm against her thigh.

She doesn’t tease him for the rest of the ride.

Blackwater is lively, and despite their fiasco a year ago no one recognizes them as they ride through the town. Arthur likes the simplicity of it, unlike the big cities full of smog and slums, and it’s clearer than towns like Valentine too. Monroe directs him towards the back of the town, away from the streets and stores towards the houses that stand on the edge of Blackwater. 

There’s a large house on a decent sized wheat and dairy farm, the cows graze lazily while sheep bleat about, it’s cozy and well maintained. Monroe tells him that’s where they’re going, and Arthur steers Galahad accordingly, he mentions his like of the place and Monroe smiles.

“It’s a nice farm, I’ve known Hilda and her family for a long time, I used to buy a lot from her when I lived in New Austin.” She tells him before looking back at a still sleeping John “Should we wake him?” 

Arthur nods, pulling the wagon to a stop in front of the large home, Monroe leaning over the wagon bench to wake John. An older woman is coming out of the house, wearing overalls and holding a pup in her hands, her white hair is piled high upon her head. 

“Mrs. Hilda!” Monroe calls as she hops off the wagon, leaving Arthur and John behind to jog up the porch steps to the woman. The woman watches Monroe with the fondness of a grandmother, pulling her into a one armed hug and kissing her hairline while talking to her. Monroe laughs, then gestures to Arthur and John as the two men come up the porch, the woman gives them a critical eye before sticking her hand out to shake.

“Good afternoon,” She greets as Arthur shakes her hand “I’m Hilda Greene, Arthur correct?”

“Yes ma’am, this here’s my brother, John.” He appreciates Hilda’s strong grip, the pup in her other hand yawns lazily making Monroe coo at its little pink tongue.

“You ain’t been around in a while, these two why?” Hilda asks the young woman, a sly glint in her eye making John sputter a laugh while Monroe groans.

“I told you I moved to Big Valley,” She huffs, a pout on her lips “Don’t you have grandkids to tease?”

Hilda laughs “Yes, but they’re working right now, so you’re going to have to deal with it. Now, come inside and we can chat.”

Arthur likes this woman, her strong character appealing, and he likes the way Monroe softens around her, the happiness easy to read as she walks with the woman. 

“So, what brings you by?” She asks them, leading them into the living room to have a seat. There’s a heavily pregnant Labrador Retriever on the couch, Arthur sits next to her and is immediately accosted for pets. Arthur obliges, never able to tell a lady no, running his hands through her thick golden coat while he talks to the older woman.

“We’ve got a ranch that needs livestock, but we need dogs first, Monroe said you were the best around.” He says

Hilda scoffs “I’m the best  _ anywhere _ , young man, my dogs ain’t for any ol’ two bit ranchers.”

Arthur frowns, not sure if he was just insulted or not, John obviously feeling the same way “We ain’t two big nothin’s.” He says, words heated and Arthur shoots him a warning look. 

“Oh, really?” She challenges “‘Cause, from where I’m sitting, the two of you look more like outlaws than ranchers.”

Arthur feels like he might swallow his tongue, panic trying to build, but he shoves his nerves down and looks to Monroe for help.

Monroe is sitting on the floor, a lap full of pups similar to the one in Hilda’s hand, they’re tiny and fat with milk, all of them waddling in her lap. The young woman is absolutely ecstatic, cooing at her lap full and picking them up to kiss their round bellies, Arthur gives a warm chuckle at the sight despite the tense moment.

“They’re  _ ex- _ outlaws,” She tells Hilda “Left their gang for a better life for their family.”

Hilda looks back at Arthur, eyeing him up for a long moment before relaxing in her seat “I suppose if Monroe is vouching for you, I can help you out. Not for free, that is.”

“Of course.” Arthur nods

Monroe beams, holding up a tiny grey pup for him to see “He’s perfect!”

“Nice try.” He shoots her down, making Hilda laugh “We’re lookin’ for good herdin’ dogs, somethin’ that’s good with cow, sheep, and horses.” Arthur explains to the old woman.

Hilda nods, mulling it over as she sets the pup down with Monroe “You’re in luck, I’ve got some Shepherds and Collies who just finished their field training and are ready to go. Follow me.” With that she gets up, walking out back not waiting to be followed.

“I’m good here.” Monroe chimes from her spot on the floor, the pups draped across her laps falling asleep. It’s cute, and Arthur can’t help but lean down to kiss her as he walks by “We’ll be back soon.” He promises.

“I’m not sure I like this woman.” John comments as they walk after her, Arthur shrugging “We don’t have to like her to buy her dogs.”

Outside is an open pasture with a barn, Hilda is there, waiting for them at the door, she’s quick for an older woman. She’s petting a dog with a graying muzzle, it’s a beautiful animal, and Arthur’s starting to understand why Monroe brought them here.

“This here’s Patsy,” Hilda introduces “She’s the boss ‘round here, and everyone learns from her how to work.”

Patsy looks at the two men, tail swishing in the grass in visible excitement, but she doesn’t move from her spot. She’s waiting for the word from Hilda, who gives a short whistle and suddenly John has an armful of Collie. John tumbles to the ground with a surprise shout, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows as he goes down, Patsy clambering up his torso to lick at his face

Arthur arches a brow at Hilda “If she thought y’all were a threat she woulda had you down at the porch.” The woman tells him before walking in the barn

“A little help!” John calls from the ground, and Hilda whistles for Patsy to follow.

The barn is sectioned off in large square pens, barking echoing off the walls as dogs rush to the pen gates to see them, it’s an exciting atmosphere. Arthur counts at least thirty dogs, and he doesn’t know how many pups, he wasn’t quite imagining this many animals here.

“You sell this many dogs?” He can’t help but ask, crouching down to look at a Blue Heeler that’s whining for attention. The dog has a thick and shiny coat, and her ears are perfectly pointed, she’s more than quality, Arthur feels, and he decides they made a good call asking Monroe.

Hilda is opening a different pen, letting out a handful of fluffy Collies “Oh I’ve sold just about all of them,” She says “I’ll send most of them off next week, but I’ve got a few coming to pick theirs up.”

“Jesus.” John swears, examining the Collies with interest “I didn’t think dogs would be a good business.”

“Sonny, dogs are the bread and butter of any good farm or ranch, only fools buy cheap or use mutts.” She tells him, going to another pen and letting out a few Australian Shepards.

“These are what I’ve got right now, they’re better trained in livestock herding than any other dog this side of the country. All they need is a couple days to get used to your property.” She tells them, giving a sharp whistle that makes the dogs sit at attention, and Arthur can’t help but be impressed.

He looks over the dogs, they’re all fine looking animals, well trained by the looks of it, but he’s still got some questions.

“What do you think, John?” He asks, reaching down to feel the thick coat of a collie, she’s a beautiful mix of red, tan, and white, with dark eyes full of intellect. She lets him pet her, sniffing the inside of his wrist before licking at the skin, it’s sweet and Arthur finds he really likes her.

John’s looking at a blue merle Australian Shepherd, the dog’s tail wagging wildly as John pets her “I’ve got a son, he’s young, do they do well with kids?” He asks.

“If I sold dogs that bit kids I wouldn’t have a business.” Is the answer they get, it makes Arthur chuckle.

“Alright, well, I think this one’ll do nicely- John?” He looks at the man, who is now holding the Shepherd, and laughs again

“This one too.” John decides 

“Good choice, that there’s Sage and Molly, we’ll take them out to the livestock so you can see them in action.” Hilda says.

Arthur and John are helping get the other dogs back in their pens when Arthur notices an oddly animated pile of hay by his foot, followed by a pathetic whimper. Under the hay is a tiny ball of tan and brown wrinkles, blue eyes, and a ruddy brown nose, and the poor thing’s ears are far too large in comparison to the rest of its body as well. Arthur frowns as the little pup wallows against him, far too skinny for a pup, trying to burrow into the crook of his elbow, he leaves the barn to find Hilda.

“Ma’am,” He calls to get her attention “You missin’ a pup?”

Hilda looks down at the pup and sighs “I thought the poor thing had died, he was born too sick and too little and so his momma abandoned him. He won’t eat anything we gave him, so when he went missing the other day I figured he’d passed and my husband had gotten rid of him.” There’s remorse in her voice, and she’s gently stroking the animal’s head “His ears and paws are so big he’d grow into a fine hound, if he was interested in trying that is.”

“What kinda dog is he?” Arthur can’t help but ask

“Bloodhound,” She tells him “His daddy is a prime guard dog, and his momma could sniff out a rabbit in a snowstorm. All his other litter mates sold in a week, six pups for thirty two hundred dollars.”

Arthur realizes he’s holding a potential six hundred dollars in his hands, and he wonders if he’s in the right business.

“So what now? He ain’t dead.” He decides, cupping the tiny thing closer as he wiggles and cries, unable to help himself. He doesn’t know the first thing about taking care of pups, grown dogs don’t need much besides a bowl of water, some food in the evening, and a good pat here and there. This thing was too small, his teeth were still too little for solid foods, he probably only had another day or so left, and that was a lot of time Arthur didn’t have. He thinks for a moment about Monroe, Bear and King have to stay at the homestead around the clock now with the pigs coming in, leaving her alone any time she heads off. He knows she can handle herself, and that she hasn’t taken the dogs with her every time she’s left, but since leaving Dutch he’s had an edge of paranoia he can’t seem to out run. She’d love to take this pup home, he can see her plain as day begging to be able to, he figures she’d be a natural at raising him up into a fine companion. If so, he wouldn’t have to worry so much about her being alone once he got big enough to do more than look pitiful.

Past him, John is watching Sage and Molly herd a small group of sheep, they’re impressive, Sage is a natural leader and shows far more keen intelligence than he’s seen in other animals, and Molly is quick as a whip, keeping the sheep closely herded together and on track. John is grinning wide at the display, and he knows they’ll be leaving with three dogs.

Hilda looks back at them too, fond of her hard work paying off, then puts her hands on her hips to think

“I’ll tell ya what,” She looks back at her home, a gleam in her eyes “Monroe’s family has always been loyal customers, just sold her daddy a set of prime Poodles for fourteen hundred few weeks ago.”

Arthur chokes.

“If anyone can help that little fella, it’ll be her, so, here’s my deal: you take that hound off my hands, since he ain’t worth nothing here, and I’ll cut two hundred off the other two’s cost.”

He’s glad they’re thinking the same way, but still ponders it for a moment before turning back to the house, hollering Monroe’s name to come out here. A moment later Monroe is hopping over pups to get outside, hair a mess and a boot missing “Where’s the fire?” She calls

“You want this?” Arthur raises the hound up where she can see, Hilda huffing a laugh at his demeanor, the pup’s panicked cries summoning Monroe to him at an alarming pace for someone with only one boot. She grabs him gently, cooing to calm him and frowning at Arthur “Don’t be a brute, he’s a baby.” She scolds him, he rolls his eyes and she kicks his shin in return.

The tiny thing curls into Monroe’s hold, snuffing at her hair until he’s comfortable and slumps against her shoulder with a tiny squeak, and the young woman is positively enthralled.

“Poor thing’s all skin and bones.” She pouts at Hilda “You know how it goes with runts, child, this ain’t the first you’ve seen.” The old woman tells her “But this time, you’ll actually be able to take him home.” She gestures to Arthur.

Monroe beams at Arthur, making the man feel too soft for his own good “Figure you’d need something to keep with you, seeing how your other two are needed at the house.” He tries to shrug it off, but he knows he’s being seen through.

They leave Hilda’s eight hundred dollars lighter, but with three new companions, Sage the Collie, Molly the Australian Shepherd, and Sam the Bloodhound. Monroe is thrilled she gets the bottle feed Sam, having been given enough milk from Hilda to last him a week, Arthur made sure to slip an extra twenty dollars in her pay for it. 

She has to swaddle Sam in an extra shirt, covering his eyes to trick him into drinking, and even then it took almost an hour to get the stubborn thing to latch. He wonders where she gets her seemingly infinite patience despite her firecracker personality, watching her coddle Sam also makes him wonder other things.

“Why don’t you have any kids?” He asks, not thinking as the words come from him, but Monroe doesn’t seem bothered, even if he can hear John choking in the back.

“I can’t have ‘em.” She shrugs easily “Something about irregular cycles or whatnot, not that I would’ve wanted any before.”

He can hear John’s horrified echo of  _ “Irregular cycles?”  _ Behind them, but saves the teasing for later, too caught up on Monroe saying  _ before _ and not knowing what that’s supposed to mean. Sam’s finished the bottle and Monroe is freeing him from his cloth prison, wiping the milk from his muzzle while praising him for eating so well. 

“Regardless,” He muses “I think you’d make a mighty fine parent- if you wanted.”

Monroe looks at Arthur with a furrowed brow, but her cheeks are dusted with a soft pink, and Arthur realizes what he’s said “That’s- I meant- not with  _ me.  _ I ain’t no good for kids, uh-” He’s trying and failing to backtrack, Monroe blinks before looking sullen, and John sighs heavily behind him.

“You’re hopeless, Morgan, and comin’ from  _ me _ , that’s sayin’ somethin’.” He says, propping up on the wagon bench.

The rest of the ride home is stiff and uncomfortable, Monroe and John end up swapping places in the wagon so she can socialize Sam with the other two in hopes of getting him familiar with bigger dogs before they get home to Bear and King.

Back at the ranch, something isn’t right.

“Are those  _ cows _ ?” Arthur looks incredulous, the handful of cattle grazing across the property 

“And sheep.” John pipes in, pointing to the opposite corner where a small herd of sheep are bleating about.

“When they’d get here?” Monroe asks, letting Sage and Molly down from the wagon to explore.

What happened while they were gone?

“There y’all are!” Sadie calls, riding up to the wagon “Look what we got in Valentine, ya know, since you two can’t buy there.”

“ _ We? _ ” Arthur asks, head spinning

“Arthur! John!”

“‘Bout time you showed up, English, we been waitin’ all damn day!”

Arthur and John whip around, two unlikely faces coming up to the wagon from the main house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I ever told you guys, but Galahad is based off a Blue Roan Gypsy Vanner, Bear a Napoleon Shepard, and King a mastiff- just for reference and such.
> 
> See ya!
> 
> 😘😘😘


	12. Faces: Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more of Arthur’s family make their way to Hanging Dog Ranch, so does some of Monroe’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slides you garbage with a wink* How’s it goin’? 
> 
> I actually really like this chapter, because not only do I get to introduce Monroe’s family dynamics (they’re weird) and bring in more of the gang, but also because this chapter sets up the next eight or so chapters. 
> 
> I’ve also decided to cap this bad boy at 25-30 chapters with an epilogue, so get ready because it’s about to get wild y’all. No more set up, no more pussyfootin’, we’re getting down and dirty fast (I am so sorry I’ve had like 3 cups of coffee and an energy because I’m literally a barista and caffeine gets me... hype.) 
> 
> Also. I love you guys so much, I’ll never not say it, so deal with my love. 
> 
> Now, here’s what we’re actually here for, so enjoy!
> 
> ((All mistakes are still my own))

Of all the people Arthur had expected to suddenly appear, it hadn’t been Sean MacGuire and Karen Jones, he’d been sure he’d see Mary-Beth or Lenny before anyone else. 

“We were the only ones dumb enough to leave this soon,” Karen comments when Arthur mentions this, waving her hand as if it weren’t a big deal “Dutch has gone crazy since you left. Nobody realized it was you pullin’ all us until you weren’t there anymore.”

Guilt gnaws at Arthur, but Karen sees his downward expression and reaches over to shove him “Oh, don’t! If you hadn’t done what you did we woulda lost Sean and Rhodes and God knows who else by now!” She scolds

“We managed t’ slip out when we were movin’ camps,” Sean explains “Ol’ Pinkertons found us a few days ago, barely made it out.” Karen nods in agreement, taking a sip of her water.

They’re at the dinner table, Sean and Karen sitting nearly on top of one another, the one at the ranch was fortunately left intact and only needed a good cleaning before use, Sadie suggesting they needed to sit down for this. Charles had just arrived with Abigail and Jack from furniture shopping, two fully loaded wagons waiting outside till morning. The three not hesitating to embrace Sean and Karen, welcoming them home, making Arthur swell up just a little with pride at those words.

_ Home _ , they had a  _ home _ .

“What about everyone else?” Abigail asks, worried in her tone.

“Lenny moved them to that Shady Belle house he and Arthur had found, that’s when we were able to slip away.” Karen assures her “Hosea is trying to set up cover jobs to get some of the others out too, but Dutch hasn’t been very…  _ reasonable,  _ lately” She adds one, looking back at Arthur.

“ _ Reasonable? _ ” Sean scoffs “Old bastard almost turned me into a roast chicken burnin’ that old hag Braithwaite’s house down!”

“He did  _ what _ ?” John exclaims from across the table, ignoring Abigail’s elbow to the ribs to quiet down. Arthur shakes his head, releasing a heavy sigh before looking over to the kitchen when Monroe is. She’d ushered them into the house, saying they could talk over dinner and she’d cook to give them some time to themselves. Though, he has a feeling a lot of her staying out of the dining room is Arthur’s fault for what he said on the wagon earlier. He doesn’t move from his spot, though, deciding to turn back to Sean and Karen to get filled in on the gang while he’s been gone, hopefully they can figure out when some of the others might show up.

“Dutch was real angry after you lot up and left,” Sean is saying “Kept goin’ on about loyalty wasted and faith and whatnot, his usual spill. Micah was in his ear a lot more, too, that bastard, tried t’pile all his an’ Bill’s work on Lenny and Javier- I told ‘em he could shove his shit right back up his greasy arse.”

“He got in Dutch’s head ‘bout killin’ them Braithwaite’s like we did the Grays, talkin’ ‘bout how they shouldn’t be able to get away with what they did to us. Next thing I know, we’ve killed all her sons and locked the croon in a burnin’ house, and I had t’drag Lenny outta there myself! He fell somethin’ awful down some stairs, and they woulda left ‘em, Arthur, if I hadn’t gotten him!”

Arthur looks down at his white knuckled fist, grateful he wasn’t holding anything, nausea and anger building up in his gut. Dutch used to always say revenge wasn’t what they killed for, yet he almost left Lenny to  _ burn alive  _ because of it. 

“What about everyone else? You said Hosea was going to try and move them, we could help.” Charles is as calm as ever, his unbothered demeanor helps Arthur stay collected.

Karen shakes her head, blond curls bouncing with the movement “Dutch isn’t letting anyone in or out of the camp unless Micah, Bill, or Javier are with them,” She makes a face “Like I said:  _ unreasonable. _ ”

“What about Kieran?” Abigail suddenly asks, and Arthur feels his stomach turn leaden, realizing he left Kieran there alone without a second thought.

“Mary-Beth stays with him, Dutch has become rather  _ interested _ with her lately, which means no one at camp bothers her. She’s been using it to keep others safe from Micah, mainly, he thinks he’s God or something now that you’re all gone.” Karen sighs, resting her chin on her hand “Acts like I should hike my skirt for him ‘cause he put a dollar in the ledger, rotten bastard.”

Abigail gasps, cursing Micah for being such a low down dog, and everyone at the table agrees.

Monroe comes out with dinner shortly after, Arthur going to help but she beats him to it and asks Charles instead, the man helping her bring out pan fried fish and roasted vegetables, along with her staple bread rolls and honey butter.

Sean is more than excited, much to everyone else’s amusement as they plate up and begin eating “The hell, English, you been eatin’ this good while we’ve had t’suffer Pearson’s rancid ol’ stew? Shoulda jumped ship with you lot long ago!”

Karen swats the man for his antics, but there’s an undeniable warmth in her eyes “Quit your damn caterwauling and say thank you!” 

“Ah, yes!” Sean looks to Monroe, expression far too kind for a mere ‘thank you’ “I must say, Miss, you’d make any man a fine wife, why not let ol’ Sean MacGuire make an honest woman outta ya-  _ ow!  _ The bloody hell was that for, woman?!” 

Karen arches a brow from where she’s stomped his foot “Can’t you behave for five minutes?”

Arthur figures he should laugh, but he doesn’t have it in him, between hearing about Dutch and Monroe’s cold shoulder, the man feels less than cheerful. 

Monroe laughs Sean off good enough, thanking him for the compliment before excusing herself for the evening.

“I’ve got to get Sam home and fed, along with the other two, but I’ll be back in the morning to help with furniture.” She says when John asks why she’s retiring so early, then wishes them all a good night and heads out after retrieving Sam from the other room- only pausing when Jack asks to tell the pup good night himself. 

It’s Abigail who gives Arthur a hard and knowing look, obviously having been filled in by John about the animosity between the two. He sighs, not sure what he’s doing or what he even did  _ wrong _ , but gets up anyhow to follow after Monroe, ignoring Sean’s questions to everyone else on what’s going on. 

Monroe is saddling up Galahad, the stallion idly standing, the movements not so much as even swaying the large beast. He stops a little ways behind her, clearing his throat to gain her attention, she stops moving but doesn’t face him.

“It’s a little early to be headin’ home, and you left the dogs food out for the day before we left, so, you mind tellin’ me what this is really all about?” He’s confused, and a little upset, but he doesn’t let the second seep into his voice. 

Monroe’s shoulders slump a little, and the dusk’s sepia hue makes the scene seem more dramatic than it should be, as she lets her head fall against Galahad’s flank with a sigh.

“It’s silly,” She murmurs “I’m sorry I’ve been short with you. It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t ask if it was my fault, or if it’s foolish, I asked what it was.” He reiterates, coming closer to rub his hand up her spine soothingly “When we talked on the wagon, what I said upset you.” He , and Monroe blows a harsh breath in return

“That’s the thing, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset over something like that. It’s not like we could have kids anyways.”

Arthur’s hand pauses against her back, his brain needing a moment to process what he's been told.

She  _ wanted  _ to have kids with him, and he’d shot her down without realizing it.

“I had a son.” He says into the air, unable to stop himself, she’s probably the only person he could trust to be this open with “Isaac. His momma was a waitress at some saloon I spent the night with when I was too young and dumb to be foolin’ around anyhow.”

Monroe turns around, letting Arthur pull her in close and rest his chin on her head, he tucks her in close as he talks.

“She knew what I was, and though we didn’t love one another, we loved him, so she let me come see him when I was close by. I taught him how to ride a horse and gave him his first hat, like my daddy did me, but-” He cuts himself off, throat thick with emotion “But ‘cause I wasn’t there like a father shoulda been, they were shot and killed for ten dollars, and the next time I saw them was in their graves out front.”

He squeezes his eyes tight against the moisture there, swallowing against the pain of losing his son so young.

“I’m sorry,” Monroe murmurs against his collar “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’d tell you it wasn’t your fault, but I doubt you’d believe me.”

Arthur gives a wet chuckle “You always try to see the good in me, even when there ain’t none.”

“You  _ are  _ a good man,” She corrects him, “You just can’t see it. Yet.”

_ Yet. _

Maybe she’s right.

Arthur goes home with her and by then it’s almost dark, so helps with Sam, makes sure Bear and King are okay, and locks up the barn and stables before heading in for bed. He strips down into a comfortable pair of long johns, no longer sleeping in jeans after Monroe threatened to kick him out of the bed, since the buttons kept snagging holes in her nightgowns. Monroe’s already waiting for him in bed, Sam in a little nest box atop the chest at the end of the bed swaddled up for the night, unbraiding her hair for the night.

She’s wearing one of Arthur’s shirts, he realizes a moment too late, the worn blue and white pin striped fabric draping off her, sleeves bunched up to allow her fingers to move, and the tail barely covers her thighs. His saving grace is that she only left the top two buttons undone, her collarbone the only thing exposed, but the way she’s handling herself doesn’t make Arthur think this was a strategic move. 

He’s still hesitant to get in bed, however.

“That my shirt?” He asks dumbly, making Monroe look his way before looking down at herself

“Yeah,” She admits sheepishly “It’s so soft, I couldn’t help myself.” 

She’s more embarrassed at being caught than anything, he notes, feeling safe for the time being, so he carefully slides into bed. Monroe ties off her braid before huddling down against Arthur’s side, letting the man reach over and turn out the lantern, and she sighs in contentment as they settle into bed. 

Arthur falls asleep thinking about his family reunited and kids in the front yard.

Things are better after that, they put the furniture up and finish decorating the ranch house and cabins within a week, and no one’s surprised when Karen and Sean accept a cabin together.

“All y’all lovey dovey bastards are making’ me sick.” Sadie gripes with no heat “‘Specially you, Arthur Morgan.”

“Me?” He gapes, trying not to drop the bucket of milk he’s carrying “What’s that mean?”

“It means I can’t get you to focus on anything other than Monroe for more than twenty minutes, how many times did you have to repaint that barn door yesterday?” She challenges, and Arthur is glad his hat hides the reddening tips of his ears.

The answer is twice, once because he painted the colors opposite half way through, and the other because he tripped and fell into the door, ruining the fresh paint. 

Now, Arthur isn’t the type of man to lay blame,  _ but _ , he feels justified in putting responsibility on Karen for his recent clumsiness

Karen, whom Monroe gets along with dangerously well and always seemed to snag her away when Arthur tried to find her. 

Karen, who was absolutely  _ shameless _ and likes to watch Monroe squirm and turn red at all the dirty talk that comes so easily to the woman.

Monroe had been so flustered, the next two nights she kicked Arthur out of the bedroom.

She never did tell him what she was told, and Arthur ain’t sure if he’s grateful or not.

Then, Karen fiddled with Monroe’s clothes, and Arthur thought he’d had enough problems with the cotton dresses,  _ now  _ anything she wears could be dangerous if Karen’s around.

Karen’s always been proud of her body, always flaunted it because she wanted to, and apparently she feels Monroe needs to do the same.

“Show these poor bastards what they’re missin’!” She’d laughed as she altered Monroe’s clothes, despite Monroe’s red complexion , Arthur unfortunately there to witness it.

She let Karen unbutton her shirt, and suddenly Arthur got a French lesson on what a  _ ‘corselet gorge _ ’ is and how France at least got undergarments right.

While the image of supple skin and lace will haunt his memories, what really got him was the ruddy flush of her cheeks, the slight upturn of her lips as she speaks, and the soft amusement in her tone when she apologizes to him after.

Hence, Arthur’s predicament.

He lies to himself that it’ll get better, that he’ll get used to it, yet it’s been another two weeks and he’s still stumbling over himself at the sight of Monroe laughing with Karen. It can’t be helped that she's beautiful when she’s so open and carefree, that her laughter distracts him whenever he hears it, that when he catches her eye and she gives him that playful smile he forgets the rest of the world exists.

Fortunately, she only allows her clothes to be altered that one time at the ranch to humor Karen.

Unfortunately, Karen knows  _ exactly  _ what she’s doing to Arthur.

“What’s the matter, Arthur?” She teases, coming up behind him after he’s nearly brained himself on a post, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder “You’re actin’ like you ain’t been sleepin’ with her.” 

He’s damningly quiet in response, Karen gasping at him “Oh my word, you  _ haven’t! _ ” She shrieks giddily, and Arthur makes a run for it, ignoring her catcalls behind him.

A few days later, he’s relieved from the torment when a covered wagon rolls onto the ranch carrying three friendly faces.

“Arthur, Sean! Are we glad to see all you!” Lenny calls from the reins, pulling over to hop down.

Kieran’s helping Mary-Beth from the back, and Arthur feels like a mountain’s been moved from his shoulders at the sight of them.

He about crushes Lenny when he hugs him, unable to help himself, remembering what Sean said about the fire at the Braithwaite’s, telling the kid it’s damn good to see him finally. Mary-Beth hugs him gently, kissing his cheek with a giggle, she looks good, and he’s glad. 

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show up, where’s Tilly?” He asks, having not seen the woman exit the wagon

Mary-Beth sighs softly, looking downcast “She stayed behind, but she promised she wouldn’t say anything and that she’d help anyone else who wanted to leave.”

Arthur’s disappointed, he wishes Tilly was here, but he knows she’s always been strongly loyal since Miss. Grimshaw had taken her in after her run with the Foremen Brothers. He hopes she makes it out on her own, if it comes to it, but he respects her wishes and doesn’t push the matter. 

He gives Mary-Beth a reassuring hand to the shoulder, smiling gently at her to let her know it’s alright, and she smiles back even if her eyes are a little damp. Past her, Kieran is unloading their bags, looking as nervous as ever, especially at Sadie who’s giving him a hard look. She still associates him with the O’Driscolls, and he remembers Kieran telling him that Sadie was one of the less kind of the people in the gang to him. It’s something they’ll have to work on, seeing how Arthur ain’t seen the kid as anything other than Kieran since that night with The Brotherhood.

Thank God there ain’t been a second.

“Kieran Duffy,” He calls, waving him over, and ever obediently he shuffles to Arthur “I’ve got a job for you.” Arthur says to him, making Kieran jump and look at him with wide eyes.

“Y-you do?” He sounds a little strangled, trying not to make too much noise, and Arthur has to fight not to laugh at the poor kid.

“Yeah, I need someone with a good eye for horses.” Arthur speaks with a casual drawl, arching an expectant brow at the other “There’s a stable outside of Strawberry and in Valentine, their stocks good, so we need to be better- think you can handle it?”

Kieran blinks, face going slack before he seems to snap back together like elastic “Yes- yes sir I can! I promise you won’t be disappointed!” His excitement is obvious, thrumming through him like a live wire. Mary-Beth beams at Kieran, and he turns scarlet at her attention, Arthur does chuckle this time as he pats his shoulder

“Good, I expect you ready to come with me tomorrow to get started.” He tells him, Kieran hastily nodding his affirmative.

After that he lets Abigail take them inside, John and Sean -ain’t that a match made in Hell- helping carry their belongings. Arthur puts the wagon with the other two, and their shire is taken into the stables to rest, Sadie walking next to him.

“You really think that boy’s gonna cut it?” She asks “All I ever seen him do is scurry and whine like a spooked dog.”

“Probably cause he is, weren’t none of us kind to him before.” He says, hefting a bag of grain over his shoulder to fill the feeders in the stalls. “He saved my life the first time we went out, didn’t want no money from the job, nothin’, he just wanted to be accepted, and I never did honor that.”

“Shoulda thought of that before he joined Colm.” She seethes, leaning against a support beam

“Boy lost his family, like the rest of us, and he drifted till he couldn’t. Ain’t his fault Colm was the one who snatched him up- desperation ain’t no man’s friend.” Arthur cuts the bag open, pouring it directly into the feeders before the rest is put in the feed barrel along with another bag to top it off. 

“He’s welcome here, just like the rest ya, this ain’t a gang no more. We’re family, nothing else matters.” He says, decision final as he turns to look at Sadie. She’s chewing her lip, but surrenders with a huff and an eye roll “Fine! We’re family and whatnot, happy?”

“Ecstatic, Mrs. Adler.”

He wraps up in the barn, checking over everything once more before heading back out to see Monroe running across the property from the main house, Sam waddling after her as fast as he can. Frowning, he looks across and sees two men on horseback entering the main gate, they’re too far away to make out faces. The way she flings herself into the arms of one of the men as he dismounts makes Arthur hesitate before looking over at Sadie who’s also frowning at the scene.

“How many folks plan on showin’ up today?” She asks, hip cocked and a hand on her revolver, and Arthur shrugs.

The two of them make their way over, the scene becoming clearer the closer they get, Monroe’s excitement filling the air along with Sam’s tiny yips. One of the men is Elliot, the other is a distinctly older looking Elliot, both men dressed in high quality riding clothes that make Arthur conscious of his dirty work jeans and torn flannel. 

“Them some mighty fancy folk visitin’, wonder why.” Sadie drawls, arching a brow at Arthur who sighs “Pretty sure that’s Monroe’s brother and father.” He tells her.

“No shit,” Sadie huffs “You’d have to be blind not to see the resemblance, makes me wonder why her hair’s so much lighter though.”

He shrugs before they stop a respectable distance away “Afternoon, gentlemen.” He greets, voice a little stiff.

Elliot looks over at Arthur with a hostility he didn’t have the first time they met, then again the first time they met Arthur wasn’t sleeping in his younger sister’s bed. He offers a hand to shake, praying he’s not about to be cuffed, but Elliot clasps his hand, although a little harder than necessary, after a rather forceful nudge from Monroe. 

“Afternoon.” He says gruffly, and Monroe rolls her eyes to heaven at the display “Stop acting like a troll.” She scolds, making her brother stutter and give her an incredulous look.

Arthur can’t help but chuckle before looking at the older man, offering his hand once more, feeling more confident “Name’s Arthur, welcome to Hanging Dog Ranch.”

The man beams, showing Arthur exactly where Monroe got her expressions from, and shakes his hand eagerly “Rolland Bishop, pleasure to meet you- so sorry we dropped in unannounced, my enthusiasm got the best of me.”

Arthur tells him it’s not a problem, then allows Sadie to introduce herself, shaking hands with both men.

“Nice to meet you, Miss. Adler.” Rolland is as polite as they come, but he doesn’t come off prudent like other rich, educated folk.

“ _ Mrs.  _ Adler.” Sadie corrects, making Arthur huff in amusement, the woman kicking at his shin in response.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, ma’am!” He quickly recovers, looking between her and Arthur with clarity.

Arthur’s not sure about  _ what _ , though.

Monroe’s practically bouncing, having picked up Sam to keep him from barking over their conversation, and she’s quick to usher everyone inside for lunch. Rolland compliments the ranch, telling Arthur he’s impressed with how much they’ve managed to accomplish is such a short time. He’s genuine, and the bridge of his nose scrunches just like Monroe’s when he laughs, and Arthur takes a quick liking to the man.

Elliot’s cold shoulder isn’t as easy to ignore as he’d like, the man making a point to stand between Arthur and Monroe as they walk, despite Monroe harshly whispering at him to “ _ Quit being rude! _ ” And swatting his arm twice when he mumbled illegibly under his breath. He wonders if there’s a way to warm the man back up to him, but considering his criminal history and the age gap between him and Monroe, he sorely doubts it.

Everything else goes smoothly, Rolland seems honestly delighted to meet everyone, and doesn’t bat an eye at their unusual family dynamics. His son is less than thrilled, but at least he’s not as openly callous to everyone else, Monroe having to pinch him several times to get him to stop frowning.

It’s when Charles returns in a little while later from town that things turn….  _ Interesting. _

Monroe and Charles have been close from the beginning, a friendship born from thin air seemingly overnight, and it took Arthur a while to understand their relationship. It had been one evening a few weeks after they’d settled down when Monroe explained to him how she’d grown up without any friends, how the kids her age where she lived thought she was abnormal and made fun of her. No one there was interested in the outdoors or wildlife, only fancy parties and expensive gifts, and her mother never let her around boys her age unless it was for courting. 

She’d always wanted to meet someone similar to her that she could be close to without any expectations, and Charles was that for Monroe. He let her braid his hair while he taught her about his heiritage, teaching Monroe, and her appreciating his willingness to do so. 

“It’s nice,” She’d told him “Having a real friend.”

Arthur found himself grateful to Charles all over again, and he’d manned up and apologized for his foolishness the next morning. Charles had thought it humorous, but respected Arthur’s admission of insecurity, the two men’s own friendship unhindered in the end.

So, when Monroe greets Charles with a chaste peck to the cheek, he’s not bothered at the display of affection. She offers him lunch and he gladly accepts before he’s introducing himself to Rolland and Elliot. Her father is oddly excited to meet Charles, grinning wide and bright as they shake hands and talk, Charles looks confused but Monroe just shrugs at his antics. 

“I cannot thank you enough for taking such good care of my daughter,” Rolland says “She deserves a strong young man such as yourself.”

_ What? _

Now both Charles and Arthur are confused, when Arthur recalls the odd look he and Sadie had been given earlier with a quiet groan. Somehow, Rolland’s under the impression that him and Sadie are married and that  _ Charles  _ is seeing his daughter. It makes sense, Charles is much closer to Monroe in age, he also comes off far less intense than Arthur does which makes him the more approachable of the two. 

Monroe’s no help, hiding her laughter into her hand as she watches the two of them flounder to explain that he’s got the wrong idea. Even her brother is smirking, though it’s probably more vicious than it should be, and Arthur feels like he’s being challenged.

How does one tell another man he’s the one involved with his daughter, despite their thirteen year age gap?

“I’m flattered,” Charles says, clearing his throat “But that’s not-”

“Please, you don’t have to be worried about me.” The older man interjects “I know my Monroe is more than capable of taking care of herself, I’m just thrilled she’s found someone to be happy with.”

Everyone’s finding it funny, now, Karen especially with how she looks like she’s choking as she tries not to laugh out loud.

Charles looks to Arthur who looks to Sadie who just shrugs as if this doesn’t affect her. 

Alright, well, guess Arthur has to bite the bullet.

“I’m sorry, sir, there’s been an, uh, misunderstandin’,” He manages, catching Rolland’s attention “It ain’t like that, between them two.”

Arthur’s never had to say it out loud before like this, in front of a bunch of folks, he’s talked to Monroe a few times but that’s ‘cause it was about  _ them _ . There’s a greasy feeling in his gullet, like he’s some perverse criminal for what he’s doing, making him feel sick at the thought of Rolland’s backlash. 

Rolland blinks, then looks ashamed, turning an apologetic gaze to Charles “I am so sorry, when I’d read Monroe’s letter and spoken to Elliot I must have gotten the wrong impression. Forgive an old man’s assumptions.” 

“No need to apologize.” Charles assures him, looking more collected than before

Monroe squeezes in next to her father, peeking up from under his arm “I wrote that letter  _ ages  _ ago, before the ranch was even bought, and don’t let him fool you- he’s a hopeless romantic, nothing in that letter would’ve given anyone else those ideas.”

Rolland has the decency to look embarrassed, he adjusts his arm so he’s holding Monroe around the shoulders and this close the two of them are strikingly alike. Sadie was right, though, the soft strawberry of Monroe’s hair is much lighter than Rolland and Elliot’s deep auburn. 

“Besides,” Karen pipes up, coming up to Arthur to nudge him with her hip “Our Arthur here takes  _ very  _ good care of Monroe, don’t you?” She’s teasing, and the others think it’s funny how Arthur’s ears burn in mortification.

“ _ Karen _ ,” Monroe groans, long and drawn out, cheeks ruddy “I’ve told you to stop talking like that!”

Elliot looks positively murderous, while Rolland simply looks bewildered “I thought you were married to Mrs. Adler?”

Sadie snorts an ugly laugh “Like  _ that’d  _ ever happen. My husband passed away earlier this year, unfortunately.”

“My condolences, and apologies, perhaps I could get a proper introduction for everyone? I hate to continue to assume.”

“Dad,” Elliot sighs, putting a hand on Rolland’s shoulder “That’s  _ the  _ Arthur Morgan, from Van der Linde’s gang.”

The room is suddenly silenced, and Arthur feels his fingers twitch towards his revolver, John nodding at him from behind the two men. Monroe is pulling herself away from her father, apprehensive of what’s happening, but she stays firmly in the middle between him and Arthur. 

Rolland, however, looks completely unbothered, rather he looks like he’s having an epiphany “Of course you are! I’m really making a fool of myself today aren’t I? Again, forgive me, I’ve been in the Amazon the last few months and I’m pretty sure I left my memory there. Poison darts and all that, you know.” He flaps his hand before digging in his pocket, oblivious to the incredulous expressions around him. 

“ _ Amazon? _ ” Sean mouths, as if he’s never heard of such a thing

“I understand you’ve helped both my children quite a bit, Mr. Morgan, and you’ve saved your family from a rather harsh lifestyle on top of that- ah! Here it is!” He pulls a folded square of paper, opening it before he clears his throat “I have for you, a receipt.” And hands the paper to Arthur.

Arthur frowns, but reads over the paper, disbelief slowly draining the color from his face, not even moving when Sadie peeks over his shoulder and curses loudly.

“What is it?” Lenny asks, trying to get closer

It’s John who gets the paper next, reading the contents and nearly dropping the receipt “It’s our bounties.” He chokes

“Our  _ what? _ ” Sean hollers, gaping like a trout

“Mr. Bishop paid off our bounties, but  _ how _ ?” Charles asks “Dead or alive bounties can’t be paid off.”

“They can be if you know the right people.” Rolland winks, elbowing his son playfully who rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Elliot warns “I only did it because it’s not safe for Monroe to be around such high bounties.” 

“How did he know to pay all our bounties?” Lenny asks, frowning at the paper “I ain’t ever met y’all, no offense.”

“None taken,” Elliot says, a glimpse of the man Arthur had first met peeking through when he addresses Lenny, so this is just a big brother complex that’s got him acting a fool “The Pinkerton Detective Agency is notorious for overstepping when it comes to delivering what they consider ‘ _ justice _ ’. So when I’d gone in to retrieve the bounties, it was originally only for Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, and John Marston in return for burning my current investigation reports against their top agents. However, I was able to take the bounties for all the Van der Linde gang- with the exception of Micah Bell, Bill Williamson, and, of course, Dutch Van der Linde.”

“So, we’re free?” Sean asks, hesitant but hopeful 

“Yes sir,” Rolland says “Free and pardoned in the eyes of the United States government.”

Mary-Beth and Karen exclaim in excitement, starting off a spark of excited hollers and loud talking.

Monroe nearly knocks her brother over in her enthusiasm, hugging him tight with a series of excited words muffled against him “Monroe,  _ you’re crushing me! _ ” He wheezes, trying to pry the woman off.

“Arthur,” Rolland addresses him quietly in the excitement, nodding towards the door so they can speak privately.

Arthur nods and leads him to the back porch “Somethin’ else?” He asks the older man

Rolland looks out at the late afternoon sky, sighing “Yes, but this doesn’t leave us- understand?” His sudden seriousness making Arthur frown, but he agrees readily enough.

“Monroe doesn’t put names in her letters, because she knows her mother reads them, that’s why I wasn’t able to put who you were together earlier.” He explains

“Your wife a problem?” Arthur can’t help but ask, leaning against the porch railing

“Yes.” The raw honesty is a shock “Eliza doesn’t believe what happened to our daughter, and she still keeps in regular contact with Lawrence- Monroe’s former husband.” He elaborates at Arthur’s blank reaction to the name.

_ Oh. _

“If Eliza learned who you were, what your bounties had been, she would have Monroe sent back to Lawrence.”

Arthur straightens up, protectiveness making his muscles tense “You’d let that happen?” He demands 

“My boy, you  _ do  _ realize that just because the officials say women have rights doesn’t mean those women get them?” Rolland chuckles with little humor “Lawrence refused to divorce her, and the law wouldn’t force him, even with all my wealth and influence no one believed Monroe over him.” 

“Wait,” Arthur swallows “Monroe’s still married to that man?”

“Rich men have little sympathy for an unruly wife who burns houses down.” He shrugs 

“She  _ what _ ?” Arthur balks 

“Oh, yes, she  _ hated  _ Lawrence’s home in Vermont, and one day she knocked over a lantern and decided to leave instead of pick it up. That’s when he took her to New Austin and I stopped hearing from her.” He explains “Please, Monroe mustn’t know I told you any of this, I paid your bounties to keep my daughter safe- so  _ you  _ can keep her safe. If she can keep away from him a little while longer, she can re-petition for divorce and there would be no reason to deny her.”

Arthur looks through the window, seeing Monroe laughing with everyone, she’s carefree and beautiful, and he already knows he’d never let anything happen to her. 

“You don’t have to ask,” He tells Rolland “She’ll always be safe here. With us.”

“Thank you.” The older man murmurs “Elliot was right, you are far too good for an outlaw.”

“Don’t push it.” 

Rolland and Elliot leave shortly after, Rolland needing to catch the train to the ferry.

“I’m due in Egypt, my dear,” He apologizes to Monroe, who’s hugging him and refusing to let go “I’ll bring you back a cursed object?”

“...  _ Fine _ .” She lets him go with a pout “But it’d better  _ actually  _ be cursed this time.”

“Promise.” He laughs.

“How fuckin’ weird is this family gonna get, English?” Sean half whispers to Arthur, making John snort next to them.

Elliot hugs his sister goodbye, glaring daggers at Arthur over her shoulder the whole time, and Arthur puts a hand on his holster in return just because. It doesn’t phase the lawman, but there’s a gleam of respect that comes to his eye, and he even nods at Arthur as they head out. 

The first thing Arthur does is slump heavily into the couch after they’re gone, groaning as he kicks his boots off, today was an unexpected day. Charles  _ finally  _ gets to eat lunch, albeit a few hours late, and Abigail shows Lenny, Mary-Beth, and Kieran to their rooms in the main house. Arthur makes a mental note to look into building another cabin or two, but for now he tries to process the day’s events without getting a headache. It’s made easier when Monroe plops down with him, sprawling her legs across his lap with Sam, both of them acting as if Arthur is just so comfortable. He chuckles at them, putting a hand on her knee and gently rubbing with his thumb.

“What did you think of today?” He asks her

“That I wish I was adopted.” She immediately quips, covering her face with a pillow “It’s been a while, so I forget that other people aren’t used to my dad. Not to mention my brother.” She huffs, voice muffled.

“Yeah, he was strange.” Arthur muses

“S’not your fault,” Monroe tells him “We had a fight last time we saw each other, and I’m sure that had a lot to do with it.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him, and they settle into the couch.

_ “Lawrence.”  _ He thinks to himself, recalling what Rolland told him and why he had actually shown up.

He thinks about how Monroe’s still technically married, all because a man thinks he owns her, and how it makes his stomach boil with anger. To think that someone like  _ that  _ had any claim on her, even if Arthur didn’t know exactly what he did to Monroe, he could piece together what he had been told. He squeezes Monroe’s knee a little tighter, looking over and seeing Sam nosing under the pillow covering her. Rotten little thing.

Monroe giggles, most likely being licked in the face, and Arthur never wants to let her go. It doesn’t matter than he hasn’t laid with her in the Biblical sense, or that there’s still so much they need to sort through toget, he doesn’t care that he’ll have to wait just a little longer until she’s completely his.

What matters is that he loves her, even if he’s not ready to say it out loud just yet. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Mary-Beth says, and the man takes his eyes off Monroe to look at her “I forgot, Tilly gave me this to give you when we arrived.” And she hands him a letter before heading off once more.

He recognizes the elegant script, the gentle pen strokes on quality paper, and he knows what it says before he even reads it.

“A letter?” Monroe asks, having removed the pillow, she holds Sam close so she can sit up for a better look “Do you need a moment to read it?”

She’s offering him privacy, a chance to keep something from her, and she’s not upset in the slightest, he shakes his head before handing her the unopened letter.

“Read it to me? Head’s achin’ too much to try myself.” He asks, and Monroe gapes at him a moment before nodding.

She opens the letter with careful hands, peering over the contents before asking “Who’s Mary Gillis?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the corselet gorge wasn’t actually invented until 1899 in France, but, like most everything else Monroe wears, I don’t adhere to the timeline of fashion.
> 
> Also, I identify with Rolland’s level of hot mess.


	13. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur in Saint Denis: A Hot Mess in Three Parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who wants an emotional train wreck that is Arthur Morgan? Just me? Okay, well, majority rules- here’s an emotional train wreck Arthur Morgan.
> 
> I wrote this chapter with the intention of healing Arthur, and therefore I couldn’t bring myself to throw Mary into the sun for her crimes against my boah. Both of them are scarred in their own ways, and had warped views of love because of broken home lives, it wouldn’t be fair to blame it all on Mary when she didn’t know better back then. It was, however, extremely satisfying to put her in her place as an adult with some mature and over her mess Arthur.
> 
> There’s some other stuff, but you’ll have to read to find out.
> 
> I love all your faces, so so much! Please enjoy and see you next chapter! <3
> 
> ((Mistakes are still my own, yes, I know there’s a lot, and, no, I haven’t learned to properly proof read after thirteen chapters))

######  _ “My Dear Arthur, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your help with Jamie. He and Daddy are still arguing but I understand that Jamie is thinking about going back to college. Whatever happens, I believe you saved his life and we are all truly grateful. _

_ Oh Arthur, I have made such a mess of my life, time and again. Why can I not change and be the woman I want to be? Why couldn't you change and be the man and put down all those fantasies that shroud your judgement? _

_ Life is very confusing and I see now that I am not very good at it. _

_ I am afraid we have got ourselves into another mess. It's not my fault but I need your help. I'm staying at the Hotel Grand in Saint Denis. Oh Arthur, I know it is wrong to ask you, but I have nobody else and for what we once had together, I beg of you, even though I am ashamed to do so. _

_ Yours, _

_ Mary” _

Monroe finishes the letter, Sam now napping on the arm of the couch behind her, then looks at Arthur with an arched brow “You never told me you were such a lady killer.” She teases, and Arthur rolls his eyes despite the knot in his stomach.

He thinks of Mary and where there used to be regret and longing, he feels nothing but a sense of nostalgia, but Mary’s letter makes him wonder what she thinks of him still. It’d be best not to go, to stop getting dragged into her mess, they’re not lovers anymore, and they deserve better than to string one another along. 

“It was a long time ago, I couldn’t be the man she wanted, so she left and married another fella named Linton.” He doesn’t elaborate any further.

“But she’s calling herself Gillis?” She asks, tilting her head at the paper

“He died, guess she went back to her surname.” He shrugs, trying to ignore that detail then asks “Speakin’ of, why’d you change your name to Cadence and not back to Bishop?”

“It’s my grandma’s maiden name, I didn’t want to be found after I left my husband.” Monroe offers up easily, making Arthur do a double take.

“Alright, now your turn,” She says “I’ll tell you if you tell me.” She winks at him

“No more secrets, huh?” He chuckles

“None.” She promises, and seals it with a messy kiss to the cheek.

So he tells her about Mary, how they met a little after he’d lost Eliza and Isaac, and how he’d fallen fast and hard for the rich man’s only daughter. She was his everything, and he thought they’d be together forever, only he wouldn’t change and the gang always came first. Mary’s family hated him, save for her little brother Jamie, and their frigid expectations and approval meant more to Mary than anything. 

“We were gonna run away,” Arthur chuckles, remembering it clear as day “Run away and get married, but Dutch needed me and Mary needed her family, and I wasn’t going to change, so she left me, though, we loved each other for a long time after.”

It hurts to remember the rejection, not being good enough the way he was back then, how Mary wanted only the pieces of Arthur she could fit into a mold. He’d loved all of Mary, just as she was, couldn’t imagine her any different, and he’d been so blind in his devotion to realize she hadn’t felt the same. She only kissed him when no one was looking, wouldn’t hold him if his clothes were dirty, no guns, no foul language, and no talk about the gang. He wonders if he’d have become a better man on his own for Mary if she’d stopped trying to force him to be a man he wasn’t.

Monroe fiddles with Arthur’s hand, tracing some of the scars on his knuckles “I won’t bad mouth her because I respect that you loved her, but,” She picks his hand up and kisses his palm like that one day months ago “I have to say that she’s a fool for trying to change you- and I’m glad she left you so easily.” 

Arthur frowns, unsure of how to feel about that “Why?”

“‘Cause I’ve got you now.” She beams at him, and it takes all of his willpower not to pin her to the cushions.

“It’s your turn.” He says, voice rough, and he doesn’t fail to notice how it makes her eyes dilate, but he forces himself to  _ focus _ .

“Though,” He amends, “I already know you’re technically still married- and about the house in Vermont from your daddy .”

“I didn’t burn it down on purpose, I just  _ didn’t stop it  _ from burning to the ground.” Monroe defends, unbothered by Arthur’s admission, and still pressing his hand to her cheek.

“‘Cause that’s what’s important.” Arthur teases, pinching the soft skin there

“Shut up and let me talk.” She huffs, shoving his hand away “Anyways, Lawrence was some big oil tycoon who put his overnight wealth into sponsoring large manufacturing companies, so now he’s as wealthy as he is stupid.” 

No lost love there, Arthur figures.

“And, growing up, my mother was really obsessive over how I was raised, so I was isolated most of my childhood, no one outside of our ‘ _ social class’ _ ” She makes a face at the term “Was allowed in our home, and, like I’ve said, the only men ever over were potential suitors. I  _ hated  _ it, and I always found ways to get away, and . Until Lawrence, he came in like some angel from my mother’s prayers and offered twice my dowry and to pay for the wedding completely. No idea who he was or where he came from, but, before I knew it, I was engaged and getting to know my future husband. At seventeen. Most girls my age were still fooling around with the stable boy and gossiping in gazebos, not trying to stab their eyes out with a salad fork while listening to a man brag about himself.” She speaks in one long breath, only stopping once she’s finished.

Arthur shouldn’t find it as funny as he does, but imagining a younger Monroe’s theatrics makes him chuckle “I suppose neither of us were model kids.” He comments

She sighs heavily, but it’s all for show, and she drapes herself across his lap similar to a damsel “Such tragedies we suffered.” 

He rolls his eyes, picking up the pillow from earlier and thwacking her with it “That’s enough of your mess.” He huffs, talking over her muffled laughter.

She barely manages to knock the pillow away, taking advantage of his defenseless state to straddle his lap and declare victory, and Arthur gives her this moment, steadying her with broad hands on round hips. 

“I never got to play like this,” She tells him, tipping off his hat to see his face unhindered “It was never about feelings or being happy, I felt like a tool to benefit others. Lawrence didn’t love me, he loved what I could give him, and even then it wasn’t enough, he-” She ducks her head some, as if ashamed “He  _ hurt me,  _ because I wouldn’t listen, because I challenged him on everything. When that didn’t work he would keep me from my family, he boarded Galahad in a stable, he even barred my windows one time. It was like some kind of sick game, seeing what it would take to break me under him.”

She wipes the wetness from her eyes, but more wells up “It was three years before the Downes found me, and I had almost given up, but I’m glad I held on. I’m glad I was able to meet you.”

Arthur reaches up and thumbs the tears from her eyes before pulling her down to kiss her softly, then tucks her under his chin to hold her close. He strokes her curls, and lets her hide her tears against his collar “Me too, ‘Roe, me too.” He murmurs softly against her crown.

He couldn’t imagine hurting Monroe, the times he has made him ill to his stomach and those were because he stuck his foot in his mouth. Putting hands on a woman has always been something that made Arthur hot with rage, and having full confirmation of what’s happened to her makes him want to find the man and string him from a tree. He thinks of her bright smile, the challenge in her eyes, all the things they’d tried to break her of were what made her perfect to Arthur- and he swears he’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from ever going through that again.

They sit like that for a while, surprisingly no one comes by, their quiet undisturbed as the sky slowly darkens outside. Monroe sits up, wiping her eyes with a small sniffle, then looks up at Arthur with a tiny smile.

“You should go see her.” She murmurs

“What?” Arthur frowns, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear

“Mary. You should go see her, it’s obvious she doesn’t have anyone else to turn to, and you should talk to her- about this.” She waves the letter about.

Arthur pauses, not sure how he feels, he didn’t think Monroe would take news about Mary so easily “You’re alright with that?” 

Monroe gives a small laugh “Of course, I trust you, and I think it’ll be good for you. Also..” She trails, lips curving into a coy smile 

“Also?” He arches a brow

“There may or may not be a candy shop in Saint Denis that has the best candied apples, and it would be ever so nice of you to bring me one home, so you could always just go for me.” She gives him her best doe eyes, tilting her head some, and Arthur chuckles but agrees to bring back apples, silently grateful for her shifting the atmosphere.

She squeals in delight, scaring poor Sam awake, telling him he’s the best and showering his face in small kisses until Karen walks in the room and wolf whistles. Monroe throws the pillow at her, missing horribly and clubbing Lenny in the head as he walks by, nearly knocking the kid over. The commotion summoning everyone else from wherever they’d been the last couple hours.

The rest of the evening is spent with everyone, John and Charles building a fire out back for them to sit around, they all have a few (a lot of) drinks and sing camp songs. Sadie is goading Lenny into drinking more, while Abigail makes John dance with her, followed by Mary-Beth with a clumsy Kieran, everyone else loudly encouraging their antics. The sounds of Jack playing with Sage and Molly in the field behind them echo with their laughter and barking while Monroe laughs in the fire light, having been roped into dancing with Sean and Karen, the three of them spinning and stumbling. She looks natural here, able to dance and smile without a care, and Arthur’s stunned once more by how beautiful he finds her. Is it because what they have is still new? He doubts it, it feels like second nature to be so enraptured by her, and he feels himself eager for tomorrow.

He regrets his eagerness in the morning, when he has to pick himself up off the floor where he’d fallen asleep, the last few hours or so before he’d passed out are a blur. He looks around, seeing Monroe fast asleep on the couch with Sam and Sage, using Lenny’s stomach as a pillow. Arthur heads voices in the kitchen, and he manages to follow them without tumbling over, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he yawns loud and greets whoever it is good morning.

“G’Mornin’ Arthur,” Sadie greets while she and Charles are pouring coffee, but she sounds far too put together and far too amused for Arthur’s liking, and he just slumps against the counter to paw at a cup of coffee.

“How’re you two so..  _ okay _ ?” He sounds like he ate rocks, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s been hit by a wagon. 

Sadie snickers around the rim of her mug “I know my limits, unlike  _ someone _ .” She’s teasing him, but for what he has no idea, so he settles for giving her a dirty look as he gulps down his scalding hot drink. 

“At least he didn’t lose Lenny this time.” Charles comments, but he’s being a smug bastard about it in his own way, making Sadie cackle.

Arthur huffs, putting his empty mug down “Just tell me what’s so damn funny.”

Charles purses his lips against his laughter, trying to hide it behind his coffee, Sadie only laughs more, uncaring, and Arthur glares harder at them.

“Where do we start?” Sadie huffs and rolls her eyes “When you and John started drunk cryin’ over y’all’s  _ brotherly love or _ you when you started waxin’ poetic ‘bout Monroe for half an hour?”

Charles snorts so hard into his mug he almost ruins his shirt, and Arthur wants to believe Sadie’s talking nonsense but he’s got just enough recollection to know she’s right. He groans, burying his face in his hands to hide from his shame, trying to ignore the laughter across the room.

“Don’t get too down,” Charles says “It was an enlightening night.”

“I hate you both.” Arthur settles with, deciding breakfast isn’t an option between his stomach and current tormentors as company. He leaves them to their amusement, not wanting to hear anymore about how he embarrassed himself the night before, and gets ready for his trip to Saint Denis.

Kieran’s already in the stables with the horses, Molly trotting about as well, and from the looks of it he’s been hard at work since day break, Arthur wonders if the kid even slept.

“Gonna have to take a rain check on them horses today,” He says, spooking the other “Got some business in Saint Denis.”

Kieran nods, but he looks thoughtful. “Well… I-I heard Monroe said somethin’ bout y’all finding good animals in Blackwater.”

“What of it?” He asks, pulling Magnolia’s saddle from the shelf, the mare already knickering at him for attention.

“I could go down there, m-maybe, and take a look while you’re in Saint Denis..? Seein’ how you’ve already got so much to do and all.” Is what Kieran offers, looking like he might bolt if Arthur so much as looks at him wrong.

Arthur considers it, he hasn’t had a reason not to trust the other, and he’d like to get the horses sooner rather than later, so he agrees with Kieran while pulling Magnolia from her stall.

“We need good horses, with papers, no geldings.” He instructs as he adjusts his saddle, making sure it’s firm but comfortable for his girl “Talk to Monroe before you leave, she’ll give you the money and tell you if she knows any good breeders.”

He rides off after that, towards Riggs Station, part of him regretting not waiting for Monroe to wake up before leaving, but the sooner he’s gone the sooner he’s home. 

It’s a lovely day out, the midsummer sun not at its peak heat this early, but bright enough to paint the land a bright golden hue. Animals scurry about, birds sing, it’s the perfect day for a ride, and Arthur enjoys the peace it brings about. His mind wanders, thinking of several things, but always looping back to the same subject.

Mary.

It used to be her dark eyes and olive skin that haunted Arthur’s dreams, their failed relationship one of his biggest regrets for over ten years, and now he’s going to tell her he’s moved on. Monroe says it’ll be good for him, and that he needs to address what she wrote, but he isn’t sure  _ what _ good it’ll do him. It’s never been easy to talk to Mary like it has been Monroe, where only ever saw him as what he  _ should  _ be, the other sees him as he is. He never wanted to compare the two women, it set unrealistic expectations and made him feel like an ingrate, but he can’t help but think of how differently they regard him. 

Monroe makes him want to be a better man to protect her, to give her everything she’s never had, she doesn’t need anyone else’s approval of Arthur for them to be happy. 

He thinks of Beau and Penelope as he boards the train at Riggs, how they threw away their entire families, awful as they may be, to be together. While he’s nowhere near as melodramatic, he understands a lot more than he did before, and he wonders where they ended up.

The rest of his train ride is spent asleep, grogginess from the night before catching up to him despite his morning coffee.

_ Arthur wakes up in an open field of wildflowers, a familiar dreamscape, and he already knows what he’s looking for.  _

_ The stag stands tall and proud, pelt littered in scars, alone in the clearing save for Arthur. The world is silent, clouds unmoving, wind nonexistent, as if they’re standing in a stilled frame of time, and Arthur wonders why they’re here. He looks around, the doe from before nowhere to be found, exempt from this suspended moment, and he notices that there are no other beings here but him and the deer.  _

_ The air is heavy, a literal weight on his shoulders, and Arthur has to breathe deep to keep from choking. Across the clearing, the stag looks unaffected as it approaches him, it’s dark eyes full of eerie intelligence that makes Arthur feel transparent. It stops only a foot away, then leans in to snuff at his shirt, Arthur frozen in place as it peers up at him. Behind him a twig snaps and he nearly jumps out of his skin, when he turns he sees a small fawn creeping into the meadow. It still has its spots, with wobbly legs and large ears as well, and Arthur doubts it’s even a foot tall yet. The fawn hobbles into the clearing then looks back behind it to call out, and shortly after the doe emerges as well. _

_ She watches Arthur crouch down, her little fawn tripping over itself to examine Arthur closer, and he makes sure to stay as steady as possible. He feels an odd swell of pride as he watches the fawn, and he looks over his shoulder at the ever diligent stag. _

_ “You did good.” He murmurs, and the animal bows his head as if he understands. _

_ In an abrupt moment, Arthur feels as if he’s gotten whiplash as the world jerks into motion, all of a sudden there’s movement and voices all around, dogs barking excitedly echo through the woods. _

Hunters.

_ Arthur watches the doe panic, darting off with her fawn, and his heart steels as he and stag stand to face the men coming their way. He unholsters his revolver, aiming into the tree line at the jerky movements, bullets whizz from the thicket, but they miss, grazing skin and fur. He bleeds, but there’s no panic, no pain, only the reassurance that they’ll make it out. _

_ He’ll protect them- _

The train whistle startles Arthur awake, signaling he’s made it to Saint Denis, and he wipes the tiredness from his face before unboarding. Magnolia is more than pleased to be off the train, knickering and whinnying as Arthur brushes her down and feeds her oatcakes. They ride down the main road, and soon enough Mary’s waving him down from the balcony of a building, and Arthur looks around the city as he waits.

He grimaces at the dirty streets and cloying smog in the air, the people look down their noses at his flannel and mud splattered jeans, muttering about “ _ backwoods cowboys _ ” and “ _ uneducated hicks _ ”. A few well placed glares send them scurrying away, however, and Arthur calms his nerves with a cigarette- something he hadn’t realized he’d nearly quit completely since finding Monroe and leaving the gang until a couple weeks ago. When Mary bustles through the door he snubs it out on the bottom of his boot before tossing it into a nearby trash bin, then turns to greet her.

Unlike the last time, Arthur isn’t knocked breathless in awe at the woman before him, he doesn’t feel his heart skip or pulse thrum. The grey and yellow plaid of her dress seems dull, too formal and constricting, her hair is immaculate as always, yet Arthur finds himself missing simple cotton, wild curls, and messy braids. Mary’s face brightens at the sight of him, but Arthur isn’t thrilled like he’d once thought he’d be, though he lets her embrace him for a moment.

The smell of her soft perfume doesn’t make him inhale deeply like before, and she feels different in his arms than he remembers. It’s underwhelming, the realization that he’s no longer in love with the woman before him, and he sighs softly when she releases him. They walk and talk, Arthur smiling at the mention of Jamie, he’s genuinely glad to hear they’re doing better- he always will be, because he doubts he’ll ever stop caring, even if he’s stopped loving Mary.

It turns out the problem this time is her father and Arthur immediately scowls at the mention of the man, wishing he’d seen it sooner. In her last letter she wrote about Jamie needing help, making it clear what she needed from Arthur because she knew he wouldn’t turn her down. This time she’d purposely left the  _ who  _ out, knowing he’d have never come all the way out here for her bastard of a father. 

“Surely you cannot hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter,” Mary pleads, desperate “And wanting better for her than- than…”

“Than me?” Arthur bites the bullet for them

“Than the choices you make!” She defends

He snaps, unable to help himself, tired of hearing how wrong he’s been despite the countless things she overlooks from her family. They argue, like they always have, and, like always, Mary wins when she looks at Arthur as if the world’s on her shoulders and begs him:

“Be kind to me,  _ please _ .” 

_ “You should go see her, it’s obvious she doesn’t have anyone else to turn to..” _

He caves, feeling like a fool the whole way.

“I should’ve ran away with you years ago.” She sighs

“But you wouldn’t.” Is all Arthur says, not going any deeper than that.

  
  


Mr. Gillis is pissed to be found at the stables, lashing out at Mary, and she tries to placate the man to no avail. She looks at Arthur, hopeless as her father staggers off, and he wonders why he lets himself get dragged into these things. He does stop to properly keep Magnolia boarded for the time he’s gone, untrusting of city folk.

Perhaps this is what Monroe meant, he’s not sure, but he helps Mary anyways, and they follow her drunken old man through the back alleys of Saint Denis. It’s more fun that he thought it’d be, and even Mary seems to be enjoying herself despite scolding Arthur most of the way. They laugh and joke as they walk the alleyways, Arthur enjoying the relaxed atmosphere despite the situation, and he’d forgotten how much fun they used to have. 

They slip up and are almost caught, Arthur grabbing Mary last minute to pull her out of sight.

Arthur clings to Monroe’s voice, the promises he’s made her, when he backs Mary into a wall and she goes breathless, her dark eyes peering up at him. He thinks of peaches and coy smiles as he’s pressed against her, keeping them out of sight, of soft skin and supple hips. Monroe would’ve goaded him, giggling against his collar at Arthur’s exasperation, but Mary looks at him with so much  _ hope _ it makes Arthur feel like a traitor. He shoves off the wall with a little too much force, stalking down the alley until they find Mr. Gillis waiting behind a building. The man is selling a brooch to a loan shark, and Mary’s furious to learn it’s her mother’s that she’d left to her before passing. 

Their confrontation is lack luster, the man too drunk to be intimidating and Mary too passive to do more than raise her voice a couple times. She’s easily brushed aside, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to convince him to calm down and get some rest, so Arthur’s leaves to fix this mess while Mary follows after dear ol’ daddy.

Same song, different tune.

If Arthur beats the buyer a little harder than necessary, it’s only because he’s not paying one hundred dollars for a piece of metal and rock. Nothing else.

Mary’s waiting for him in town, grateful for the brooch, and he walks her to the trolley so they can talk. She doesn’t want this day to end, she tells Arthur they should go do something together, and Arthur knows where this is going.

He looks at Mary and sees the life she wants for them, but there’s nothing left for them to be had, and he tells her that much.

“I ain’t the man you want me to be, and it ain’t fair to either of us to try and change that.” 

Mary looks stricken “Oh, Arthur…”

“Listen, Mary,” He lets out a weary breath, unsure of what he’s doing “We can’t keep doin’ this, I tried all those years ago to be everything you wanted, but it was never good enough. Your family ain’t ever gonna like me, and I ain’t ever gonna be somethin’ I’m not.”

She tries to argue, but he shakes his head “You moved on, got married, and pushed me aside until there wasn’t anyone else. I’ll always care for you Mary, and I’ll come when you call for help, but I don’t love you like I did.”

“What if  _ I  _ still love you, what if I never stopped?” She says softly

“Then you wouldn’t’ve tried to make me a different man.” Arthur says, and he watches Mary become contrite at the words.

“All I asked was that you left that gang of yours,” She fumes, jerking away from him, mood souring “Because you loved them more than me!”

“They’re my family, Mary, I never asked you to leave yours.” He keeps his voice low, unwilling to rise to the bait of his anger.

They’ve had this fight, too, and they’re both right about the other, but neither of them were  _ right. _ Arthur put the gang before everything, while Mary valued her family’s opinion above all else. 

“Would it have been good enough for you if I’d left them?” He asks when she doesn’t say anything “Was that what would’ve caused you to leave with me, despite your brother and dear old daddy? Would I have been good enough then?”

“Why is it always about you?” Mary snaps “You and your precious gang, making  _ me  _ the bad guy for just wanting a better life with the man I love!”

“Because I have to bend myself over backwards to accommodate you in  _ everything, _ yet you would never do the same.” He finally says it “Everything was to make you feel better, because you couldn’t handle your daddy’s disappointment in  _ me _ , so I played like a damn fool for you for years.”

“It wasn’t like that.” She tries defending herself “You don’t know what it’s like to love someone your family doesn’t approve of, the pain I went through to be with you.”

“What about the pain I went through knowin’ you’d never be happy with me, knowin’ no matter what I did, I’d never be good enough for you? I coulda left the gang, bought a house, and married you, but it wouldn’t be enough because I ain’t the kinda man with a good name and money to bring to your family?” He counters, then sighs heavily, this isn’t how he wanted things to go “It don’t matter anymore, what’s done is done, can we just.. move on?”

Mary nods tersely, and they continue their walk, but as they move Arthur notices the woman softening and becoming downcast. He wonders what she’s thinking, maybe he was too harsh with his words, he’s never been good with his emotions- too prone to anger to actually achieve anything. This probably wasn’t what Monroe had in mind for him, he feels less than accomplished.

He stops them at the trolley station, Mary’s eyes glassy with tears “I’m so sorry, Arthur.” She sniffs “I was never as good to you as you are to me, even now.”

Arthur’s taken back, but doesn’t let it show, and something clicks inside him that makes him feel better, and he lets her weep silently against his shoulder.

“We’re from different worlds,” He murmurs, stroking her hair gently “Ones neither of us could give up back then.”

She looks up at him, confused “Back then?” She asks

“I left them, Mary, and I’m starting’ over- you should too.” He tells her “Ain’t enough time to be wastin’ tryin’ to be someone we’re not, or be content where we’re at.”

She smiles at him, is small and genuine, and Arthur sees the woman he fell in love with all those years ago in it.

The trolley comes, and Mary gives him a lingering kiss on the cheek as a farewell “I wish you all the best.” She says gently before boarding. 

He waves to her through the window, smiling himself, and he figures maybe it was all worth it.

Saint Denis isn’t the kind of town Arthur would ride through, so he leaves Magnolia in the stables a little longer and sets out on foot to find the candy shop Monroe had told him about. He had to ask around, but soon enough he’s there, the inside smells heavily of sugar and chocolate, and there’s children running about the displays. There’s more candy than he’s ever seen, a lot of it he’s never even heard of, and he feels a little overwhelmed and out of place.

He heads to the counter, asking the clerk for the apples, but when he’s asked which kind Arthur stops short.

“I was just told candied apples, partner.” He flounders, and the clerk nods with a good natured chuckle “Probably the original, then, how many?”

Arthur does a quick count in his head, and decides on a dozen, hoping they last the trip back to the ranch. 

Eighteen dollars and three boxes later, he’s leaving the candy store and hoping he can catch the next train before nightfall. Though, he’s stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder and when he turns to confront whoever it is he stops short.

Dutch cocks a brow at Arthur, looking amused despite the emotionless pit of his black eyes “You alright, son, seem you a little skittish.”

Arthur isn’t sure what’s going on, or why Dutch is in a place like Saint Denis, but he’s got half a mind to worry about Micah popping from the shadows and shooting him. He shakes himself out of it though, forcing himself to shrug despite his locked muscles.

“Ain’t a big fan of the city, is all.” He manages to keep his tone even, and somehow the two of them end up walking down the block together.

Dutch chuckles “You and me both, but business is business- so, what business brings you here?” 

“Uh, apples.” He coughs, holding the boxes up some, and Dutch nods at the sight as if it makes perfect sense.

They walk a little while longer in silence before Dutch speaks again “We ended up seeing that Angelo Bronte fella the Braithwaite’s were dealing with.” He said, and Arthur nearly trips in his surprise.

“Ain’t that the man they was gonna give Jack to? The hell you want with a man like that?”

“Simple, he’s the key to us getting out of here.” Dutch seems confident, but Arthur’s just lost.

“Gettin’ outta where?” He asks

“America, I hear Tahiti’s nice.” 

“...  _ Tahiti _ ?” 

Of all the things he’s heard from Dutch, this is the wildest, and what’s more concerning is how Dutch is talking like Arthur hasn’t left him. 

“Think about it,” Dutch muses “Bronte holds Saint Denis in his hand, meaning he controls the money. We get a few decent scores from him, and we’re gone! Mango farming on an island paradise, what do you say? Leave all this  _ nonsense  _ behind,” He flicks at one of the apple boxes “And come back home. It’ll be like you never left.”

Arthur shifts away from the man “Dutch-”

“I know, I know,” The older man amends “We had a minor dispute, but that’s what family  _ does _ . We fight, we go cool off, and we come back together stronger than ever, all of us.”

Whatever he’s playing at, Arthur doesn’t care for and he doesn’t believe Dutch for a second of it. He figures what’s left of the gang ain’t much good for nothing Dutch has planned, and he’s willing to play repentant to get what he wants- Arthur.

If Arthur comes, the rest will follow.

“I’m sorry, Dutch,” He sighs “I ain’t about that life no more.”

He walks away, only to be frozen by the cold press of a pistol in his spine “I’m  _ trying  _ to be civil, son,” Dutch says airily “The only reason you’re not dead for what you’ve done is because I’ve  _ let _ you and that woman of yours live.”

The man leans in, damp breath fanning against Arthur’s nape “Now, why don’t you rethink my offer?”

Arthur swallows loudly, cursing the empty street “I can’t, Dutch.” He says, thinking of Rolland and Elliot and what they did for him and his family. He’d put everyone at risk, something he’d been trying to keep them from all this time, he can’t be afraid to die for them. Charles and John would protect them, Sadie would keep them together and safe as well, they’d keep Monroe from having to go back to that bastard of a husband. Jack could grow up happy and healthy, he doubts Dutch would find them- let alone look for them- so he relaxes, the pistol digging in harder, and his only regret is that he won’t see Monroe again.

Dutch sighs “Have it your way, then.”

The gun clicks.

_ An empty chamber _ .

Arthur’s legs almost give out from relief, and he whips around to stare at Dutch with wide eyes “ _ What the hell was that? _ ” He shouts, startling birds and stray dogs.

“As if I’m stupid enough to shot you  _ here _ .” Dutch admonishes “Let's call it an ‘ _ I owe you’ _ .”

“A  _ what _ ?” Arthur frowns

“As in:” Dutch gives him a dark look “I owe you a bullet the next time I see you.”

Angers flares in Arthur “So what, you’re gonna shoot me from behind like a coward?” He spits

“Isn’t that what you did to me?” Dutch counters “Went behind my back, stole  _ my  _ money,  _ my  _ people? You couldn’t even face me like a man when you ran. Now, here I am, trying to forgive you, and you spit on the face of my mercy! The next time I see you, Arthur Morgan, will be to take back everything you took from me-”

Arthur doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he drops the apples and suddenly has Dutch by the collar, glaring into those black eyes that around round with surprise and a flicker of fear “You come near my family,” He snarls, rage hearing his core “And I’ll  _ bury  _ you and your goddamn mercy.” 

He drops Dutch unceremoniously, letting the man stumble, and scoops up his apples, opening the boxes to inspect the damage. They’re a little cracked, some chipped, but luckily they’re all whole, so he leaves Dutch on the pavement and heads to the stables.

Getting home is a blur, mainly just Arthur trying not to panic, he’s on edge the entire time until he walks through the door of the homestead. 

Monroe is sitting on her overstuffed couch, wrapped in blankets with Sam peeking out of his own pile on the floor, and she’s reading a book under the light of a lantern.

She’s been waiting for him. 

When she notices him, she puts her book down then smiles at him sleepily, and asks how his day was- or, he thinks she does, his head is full of static and he can’t hear anything but ringing. Arthur wordlessly drops his boxes on the small table by the door, not bothering with his boots, and he walks over to her. He drinks in her messy hair, braided into a knot atop her head, her light freckles that smudge across her nose, the perfect curve of her bottom lip when she smiles, every part of her. Arthur lets himself finally fall to his knees, burying his face into her lap, and takes a deep shuddering breath, a moment later he feels her gently remove his hat before combing her fingers through his hair. 

He melts against her, weights like shackles breaking and falling from him, from worrying about his family, working to make the ranch the best it can be, Mary,  _ Dutch  _ appearing from nowhere, his anger, and his fear- all of it crumbles to dust.

“It’s alright,” She murmurs, breaking through the white noise, and Arthur realizes he’s crying against her. The static dissipates and he can hear where he’s choking on heaving sobs, his whole body convulsing with each ugly sound that’s ripped from him. Salt burns his eyes, and he feels like he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t stop, because there’s an ache in his chest that feels  _ right.  _

Monroe says soft nothings to him, strokes his hair, rubs the tension from his shoulders, anything to help Arthur along.

A purge is the best thing Arthur can think of to describe it,or ripping up the weeds of his soul that have choked the life from him all these years.

When it’s over, when there’s nothing left to pour out, Arthur rocks back on his heels to look at the woman above him. She smiles small and tender down at him, thumb wiping the last bit of moisture from his cheek, and he catches her hand to kiss her pulse. He feels reverent as he does so, the flush that pinkens her cheeks makes Arthur want to worship every inch of her.

He grazes his teeth across the thin skin there, then presses his tongue against the mark to soothe irritated skin, and he can feel her pulse jump against him. He keeps his eyes on her, watches her squirm above him as he kisses and licks up her arm until he’s leaned above her, pressing her back into the couch. She gasps when he ducks down and latches onto her collar bone, worrying the skin until it blooms purple like the wildflowers outside, her hands fist against his biceps as if she doesn’t know if she wants him closer or not.

He repeats this process until her entire collar is covered in purpling smudges and beard scrapes, lazy satisfaction rolling through him at the sight of her so pliant and glassy eyed beneath him. She’s trembling, flushed from her ears down, her lips swollen where she’s bitten down on them to keep quiet. 

Arthur loves it, loves her, he wants to show her how much he loves her, because he doesn’t know how to say it. So he pulls her easily into his arms, carrying her bridal style back to their room, he lays her down and covers her body with his. Then, suddenly, he’s  _ exhausted _ , and Monroe is soft and warm and perfect against him, while the faint smell of peaches and blackberry soap calm him. His body feels too heavy to move, and he barely manages to adjust himself so he’s not crushing Monroe beneath him. He’s talking, too, but it’s slurred, and he doesn’t have a clue what’s coming out of his mouth.

A lot like the night before.

Before he realizes it, he’s fast asleep, with Monroe’s soft giggles following him into his dreams.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they were gonna, ya know *vague and uncomfortable hand gestures* but I chickened out last minute. Also, it was almost 10k words alone. 
> 
> But, look! Dutch is back! *confetti*


	14. Love: Redefined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and John have a brotherly moment, then John falls off the roof.
> 
> Basically, it’s all John’s fault.
> 
> Or: Arthur faces his fear of commitment- dramatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Oof, guys, this chapter was a *slaps knee* RIDE, but everyone finally made it home and we’re rolling ahead plot wise.
> 
> I rewrote this what feels like a million times, because I knew exactly what I wanted even if my writing ability was like “We don’t know how to write that.”
> 
> But! I achieved what I wanted, which was putting the whirlwind in whirlwind romance.
> 
> I’ve literally had what happens here planned since the beginning of this fic, because I wanted a few seemingly super important moments to just happen rapid fire. This fic, for me, has always been about finding love and happiness outside of the traditions and expectations of yourself and others. So I wanted for the milestones that Arthur and Monroe go through to reflect that.
> 
> We also get an explanation for Monroe’s awful torment of our poor frustrated cowboy.
> 
> Hopefully I managed.
> 
> I’ve been horse browsing with my sister so some of my favorites we found made it in Arthur’s stables, too, and they’re so pretty (Q//w//Q )
> 
> I really hope you guys have as much fun reading it as I did writing it, and thank you so much for all of your support so far! <3

“How many times do I have to tell you to get off your lazy ass and  _ do something _ !”

######  “Now, John, I’ve told you: I’ve got terminal lumbago, and you’re just making it worse!”

“I’ll kill you long before that _lumbago_ does, you worthless bastard!”

Arthur groans, wiping his face against the annoyance he feels, but doesn’t make a move to stop the men bickering outside the stables. Apollo, a double creme perlino Andalusian (Christ, that’s a mouthful), swishes his tail impatiently next to him, bringing the man back to his task of brushing down the animal. It’s been about eight months since Arthur had bought the Hanging Dog Ranch, and in that time they’ve made quite the name for themselves. 

Monroe finally got her store in Strawberry, the opportunity coming in the form of Hosea and Uncle rolling into the farm a few months ago.

“ _I ain’t the retiring sort, Arthur, you know that._ ” Hosea had laughed when Arthur questioned his offer to man the store front “ _At least a store job will be easier on these old bones._ ”

Uncle was… well, _Uncle_ , but he wasn’t going to begrudge the old man a place to stay.

He thinks of how much they’ve grown, everyone finding their place here, and it makes his chest swell with pride each time. 

Finishing up with Apollo, he walks the horse back down to his stall, passing the other ten or so horses he’s got boarded at the moment, they each stick their noses out for Arthur to pet as he walks by. Kieran had done a fine job in finding horses, buying Apollo and a sleek black Friesian that Jack named Licorice from a well known horse collector at a fraction of the cost of what they were worth. The man they’d gone to was also the man who had found Galahad for Rolland, and cut a deal on the price in return for being allowed to stud the blue roan giant along with the Andalusian. Though, Kieran told Arthur the other reason they’d gotten the horses so cheap was because the man had called Apollo “unruly”, and that the stallion liked to bite, as he rubbed a particularly nasty bruise. Monroe hadn’t been bothered by the news, in fact, she was grateful Kieran agreed because they didn’t have the extra twelve thousand dollars for those horses in their budget.

Arthur thought he was going to be sick seeing so much money trotting on his field.

“You’re supporting a lot of people,” Monroe had reasoned when he expressed his concerns “We _need_ to make a good profit just to cover the basic necessities.”

She was right, feeding that many people was expensive even with the gardens and hunting, not to mention it was nice to have more than two sets of clothes. Everything else went into savings, Arthur afraid of having so much money along with no desire to spend it unless strictly necessary. He paid everyone a decent wage, and they could do whatever they wanted with it, unable to bring himself to have them pay for anything such as food or other basic needs. They worked hard enough to earn it, he felt, and he was tired of watching the people he cared about struggle.

Between the horses they’d bought, and the word that Arthur’s ranch was training and studding _world class_ -he did dry heave a little at that- stallions, it hadn’t taken long for people to take interest and for Arthur to become a full time trainer and caretaker. Kieran and John were more than enough help, too, the three of them able to turn out thoroughly broken and well trained horses to people who had more money than time. 

It had also helped Arthur’s reputation then he was able to have Apollo trained and well mannered within the first week at the ranch. The bastard liked to push, Arthur just had to push back harder to show him just who ran this show. 

Charles and Sadie handle growing their sheep and cattle, Charles an excellent hand at processing and making sure every bit of the animal is profitable. Arthur thinks Sadie just likes to be able to yell all day and no one bother her about it, but she also does more than fine at auctions. It’s slower business because they have to have a certain stock before they’re able to sell like they want to, but they’re getting there. They sell a few cattle to the locals, many of them fascinated by Charles’ skills, and Arthur had finally met the man who made Monroe’s dresses when he’d come to ask to buy wool from their sheep.

He was… _eccentric,_ but he wasn’t going to knock the man who made Monroe happy when she swished the skirt of her dresses around her knees and asked Arthur what he thought.

Arthur checks over the horses in his care, making sure their stalls are clean and waters full, some of them absent due to the back doors to their stable being open into the field. With everything in order, he heads out to start unloading hay from the wagon Sean had brought in earlier. He passes by a sleeping Uncle with a traditional kick to the boot to spook the man awake, but only laughs as he keeps walking while Uncle caterwauls at his back.

John catches sight of him and runs up next to him, keeping pace with Arthur's long strides, he looks conflicted about something.

“So, I was thinkin’.” His brother starts, swallowing loudly

“That’s dangerous business.” Arthur smirks, lightening the mood as the man scowls at him from beneath overgrown hair.

“ _Ha. Ha._ ” John huffs “I’m serious, Arthur!”

“Then hurry up and spit it out, Marston, I got work to do.” He says, stopping at the loaded wagon by the barn. He begins hefting the large bales, feeling the muscles through his arms and back bunch and strain with a pleasant burn that only comes from hard work.

“ _ImgonnaaskAbigailtomarryme_!” John blurts, making Arthur pause to stare at the younger man

“You, uh, wanna run that by me again?” He continues to move the hay as he asks, unsure of what else he’s supposed to do during John’s awkward scramble to speak.

“I… I’m gonna ask Abigail to marry me, to be a proper family with me and Jack.” He tells Arthur, deciding to help haul the hay bales, probably to help keep the atmosphere calm.

Arthur chews on John’s words, his thoughts brought back to a letter he’d received a few weeks ago along with a fitting valuable.

_“Dear Arthur,_

_You probably dread receiving any kind of word from me after Saint Denis, and I do not begrudge you of that. These last few months I have thought tirelessly of the time we spent together all those years ago, and I am ashamed of myself for how I neglected you so. I wish I had been less of a fool our last meeting, and had been able to apologize to you like you deserved._

_I caught word of your success in Big Valley, and I am unable to stop myself from writing you to congratulate you for everything you have achieved._

_There is also another matter we have left unaddressed for far too long, the true reason for my letter._

_You were right, Arthur, I need to start over and actually_ try _to be the woman I always wanted to be, just as you have done for yourself and your family. Though, I fear I may never be able to if I do not fully let you go._

_I have sent back the ring you gave me, somethingI have selfishly kept all these years thinking one day you would take me back, and as long as I still have this, I fear I may never be able to move on from you. I hope that you will be able to give it to a couple like we should have been, that they may be happy and in love for the rest of their days._

_I wish you all the best, truly._

_Sincerely,_

_Mary.”_

He kept the ring in a drawer with the letter, here at the ranch, part of him had considered giving it to Monroe, but he immediately disregarded the thought. The ring was dainty and the stone was an elegant cut, something he couldn’t see Monroe wearing, that, and he couldn’t marry her even if he was sure he wanted to.

There was the problem of her still being legally married.

Arthur shakes that from his head for now, focusing back on John, he feels honored to be the one John came to about this, so he gives John his best effort in the matter.

“If you're serious,” He says to him “She’ll say yes. Hell, she’s _got_ to love you that much to keep your sorry self around.”

He didn’t say his best effort was a good one.

John rolls his eyes at the other man’s smirking, but there’s hope in his expression “You really think so?”

“Marston, I _know_ so.”

They finish unloading the hay, and Arthur listens to all of John’s grand ideas for proposing to Abigail.

Even if some of them are outrageous.

“The hell you gonna find that many birds?” He asks, unable to help himself “I ain’t cleanin’ no bird shit, neither.”

John scowls “It’s supposed to be romantic, or whatever.”

Arthur laughs “Son, listen,” He stretches out his overworked back with a groan “You don’t need none of that now, especially since you ain’t ever had it in the first place. That girl loves you for _you_ , somehow, and that’s all that really matters.”

Despite the multiple jabs to his person, John gives a small smile “Look at you, all wise and shit. When you gonna take your own advice?”

“For what?” He asks, closing up the barn

“Monroe, you ain’t gonna tell me you’re _not_ thinkin’ ‘bout it.” John scoffs 

“ _That_ ,” Arthur says with a pointed look “Ain’t none of your business.”

“ _Bull_ shit,” John laughs “It’s more my business than anyone else’s, I’m your brother.”

“Unfortunately.”

John kicks his shin for that, but it’s all for show, and the two of them laugh when Arthur pulls John into a headlock and further ruins his hair. When John manages to free himself, Arthur brings John inside and gives him the ring, explaining its origins.

He hasn't told anyone how that day went, about Mary _or_ Dutch, Arthur figures he can handle it well enough on his own without anyone else getting drug into harm’s way. Monroe hadn’t pushed after his episode that evening, it seemed like she’d been _helping_ him keep it to himself when he’d been asked the day after he’d come home. He appreciates her respect in the matter, even if she did tease him for falling asleep on her for a couple days after.

He’s grateful for the trust, and that Monroe lets him confide in her without judgement or trying to give him advice he doesn’t want. 

So, talking to John now about him marrying Abigail, thinking of Monroe and the letter from Mary, it makes him want the best for the man before him. John and Abigail have been through more than their fair share together, they deserve this and whatever other good things come their way from it. 

Arthur may never get this right, still dependent on that line that’s remained in the sand between him and Monroe, because he doesn’t know to be a husband. He doesn’t know what would change if he took those final few steps, and he’s afraid he’ll lose what they already have if he takes that plunge.

For now, Arthur will ignore this to focus on John, and he won’t be anything but supportive to the young man as he goes on to build his family. 

“You two deserve this,” He tells John, dropping the ring in his hand “After everything you two and that boy have been put through.”

“Thank you.” John murmurs, voice rougher than usual, both of them ignoring the salt in their eyes.

John says he’s got the perfect plan in mind, but he wants to wait a few weeks before going through, and Arthur offers to help any way he can.

Too bad John’s always had the worst of luck.

Three days later finds Arthur, Lenny, and John on the roof of the stables, repairing damage from the rough storm last night. They’re finishing up when John stands to grab the last few nails they’ll need and trips over his own feet, falling off the roof with a shout. It’s a spectacle, Arthur hollering for John as he hurries off the roof with Lenny fast behind him to run into the main house for help. Charles is there first, helping Arthur pull John to his feet, John’s bleeding from his head and he’s slurring his words worse than a drunkard, but he’s awake and responsive. They manage to get him in the house, Mary-Beth and Monroe waiting with bandages and medication, and they lay John across the couch to be looked at.

“Oh my God, _John_.” Abigail gasps, running into the room from where she’s been fetched, kneeling down to look the man over, Monroe scooting over to give her room. 

“A’b’gil?” John croaks, wildly reaching out until the woman catches his arm “M’sorry I w’rd ya, jus’ a bump.” 

“You fell off the _stables,_ John, of course I’m gonna worry!” She scolds him, but the man only grins at her, his teeth red stained but luckily all there.

“Yer gon’ be th’ bes’ wive _ev’r._ ” He chuckles, somehow managing to stroke her cheek with the hand she’d been holding.

Arthur wonders if he should cut in, but he’s also curious about what concussed John is going to do next, it’ll be hilarious either way he reckons.

“Oh, John,” Abigail says, chest dusting pink “You’re hurt, quit talkin’ nonsense.”

John’s apparently offended, struggling to sit up despite Monroe currently wiping the blood from his head and telling him to quit moving, he manages, but is wobbly as he stares at Abigail with hazy eyes.

“I ‘nt,” He slurs “I lo’ you, Ab’gail, ‘n’ I w’nt t’ m’rry you. Righ’ now.”

Hosea is chuckling next to Arthur who is trying to hide his amusement behind his hand, even as Abigail is tearing up and calling Marston an idiot. Arthur isn’t sure of half of what John’s saying, but he’s not surprised when Abigail sobs an excited “ _Yes!_ ” While throwing her arms around the man.

“Okay, as cute as this is,” Monroe cuts in “John’s still bleeding from his head. A lot.”

They manage to John calmed down and patched up, insisting he hold his “perfect wife’s” hand the entire time, even Monroe is rolling her eyes despite looking thoroughly smitten with the two. 

John’s on bed rest for a week, Charles taking the most care of him, the doctor from Strawberry kind enough to make a house call to check on him. He’s luckily only gotten a minor concussion, and a lot of bruising, the doctor gives them morphine and signs to look for in case his concussion turns to something worse. 

Of course, when he’s lucid, he’s embarrassed about his “proposal” but seeing Abigail so happy regardless seems to outweigh any other feelings he might have. Jack doesn’t fully understand, not old enough to grasp the legality and concepts of marriage, and he’s just excited because his Ma and Pa are. 

Everyone becomes excited as well, and before Arthur realizes it, they’re all planning a wedding at the Ranch, and Abigail practically glows with appreciation under the attention. She thanks Arthur for such a beautiful ring, teary eyed as he waves her off and says it’s the least they deserve. 

Customers catch wind as they come by, congratulating Abigail and John, some even sending gifts or giving money to the couple. 

It’s a little overwhelming, and Arthur’s not even the one getting married. They’ve been planning and trying and buying for almost three weeks, Monroe and Sadie at the helm seeing how they’re the only two with relevant wedding experience.

“I may have hated it,” Monroe shrugs when asked about her wedding “But I won’t deny it was well done.”

“Just a simple church weddin’, then we went on a month long huntin’ trip in the mountains where we built our home.” Sadie tells them, having never been interested in such formalities anyhow.

So, when Arthur comes home one evening to find Monroe at the table with a well dressed gentleman, he’s expecting him to be someone for business or sent by Rolland.

Not a lawyer.

“You’re _what_?” He asks when Monroe explains, taken completely by surprise 

“Well, yeah,” She gestures to the papers she’s reading “I got to thinking about it a while back, but John and Abigail getting married pushed me to go through with it.”

Arthur looks at the papers, surprise clear on his face, but there’s something else he’s not sure what it is as he reads parts of the print before him.

Monroe’s finalizing her divorce.

“You sure this is okay? Without _him_ , I mean.” He can’t help but ask, even though Arthur doesn’t want that bastard anywhere near Monroe if he can help it.

She shakes her head and points to a paragraph on one of the pages, of which there are quite a few, he reads it and feels his brows climb to his hairline.

Apparently, the time of their separation combined with the domestic abuse Monroe had suffered meant that she didn’t need Lawrence to go through with their divorce. The paper threatened legal repercussions if Lawrence were to try and fight it, seeing how he should have never had the right to deny her request to absolve their marriage in the first place. 

He keeps reading, seeing how a copy of the papers will be sent to Lawrence to inform him of his divorce, and that Monroe has a right to half of his estate if she wants.

“I took that when I left.” She admits, but the lawyer, Theodore, seems in unbothered.

Actually, the man mutters “ _Should’ve taken a shovel to his skull._ ” As he fills in some of the paperwork, but Arthur doesn’t disagree.

That actually explains a lot, he thinks of all the top of the line equipment Monroe has and the home she’s built on her own. He’s not bothered that she probably took an unbelievable amount of money from the man, he’s actually pretty proud. 

A few signatures later, and Monroe is a free woman.

It’s anticlimactic, but Monroe’s been separated for nearly four years now, and she’s already gone through the emotional turmoil of getting away from her husband. She tells Arthur that Lawrence has been dead to her for longer than that, anyhow, so signing him off was just a formality at this point.

“I’ve also got the marriage papers you requested.” Theodore says, pulling out a different stack of papers, and Arthur gives Monroe an alarmed look.

She must see his panic, because she snorts and rolls her eyes at him “They’re for John and Abigail, seeing how they’ll need these here soon I asked Theodore if he’d bring them with him.” But there’s an off tone in her voice.

Huh. 

Arthur’s not sure why, but there’s a sudden disappointment in himself for being so obviously rattled by the thought of marriage. He doesn’t say anything, though, just nods as if he’s not making a fool of himself, and tells Monroe he’s going to wash up from working if she needs him.

He feels mechanical in the way he walks to the bathroom, unable to focus on anything other than the way Monroe spoke to him as he strips down to wash. While he soaks, he can see John and Abigail’s excitement every time he closes his eyes, their happiness obvious in everything, even when they’re arguing. Nothing seems to have changed between them, their upcoming marriage hasn’t created a dynamic shift, so far they’re the same as they’ve always been. 

John had been nervous the first few days, worry gnawing at his gut over being a good enough husband and father, and though Arthur had reassured him, Arthur couldn’t reassure himself over the same worries. He wishes John had never asked him that day, the man making the swirling thoughts in his head even worse since then, and it seems like everyone else is of the same mind.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s caught the others eyes him or Monroe, murmuring to each other as if they aren’t the loudest damn gossips this side of the country. 

_“It don’t matter.”_ Arthur tells himself, dunking his head under the water for one final rinse.

He’s drying off when there’s a knock at the door, and he knows it’s Monroe because she can hear her scolding King for trying to scratch under the door. Arthur makes sure his towel is secure around his waist, realizing he forgot to grab clothes to change into, _dumbass_ , before he opens the door. Monroe’s standing there with a pile of his clothes, and he can tell just how hard she’s trying to focus on looking Arthur in the face, her cheeks a rosy pink. 

“You, um- I figured you might need these.” She manages, her throat bobbing with how hard she swallows “Oh, and, the lawyer’s gone. So, uh, _yeah_ …”

It’s awkward, and he understands, but, at the same time, he _doesn’t_. 

How can she tease him effortlessly, let him do the things he does to her, yet moments like these make her tense and unsettled? Is it because she knows his true reservations? 

Surely not, especially after the evening he’d come home from Saint Denis, and, though, while he had made - _some_ \- efforts to expand on the physical parts of their relationship, there're still times when unbidden thoughts come in and cause him to shut down.

That among, er, _other things_ , but he’s not quite ready to discuss those.

So, the _why_ is obviously Arthur, even if he wants to deny it, and he can’t ind it in himself to be upset about it, because, who’s he kidding? Why _would_ she want a man who is so obviously unwilling to marry her? 

His thoughts begin to cycle and loop, showing him all the things he’s done to keep her from wanting him anymore than she does. 

_“Or have a family?”_ He unhelpfully reminds himself, the fiasco on the wagon all those months ago loud and clear in his mind.

He sighs out loud, looking down at a confused Monroe, who has probably just stood there and watched Arthur space out for God knows how long half naked in the doorway while King licks the water droplets from his legs.

Wait-

He gruffs at the animal, getting his uncomfortably slick tongue away from him by pushing his head away with his free leg. 

He looks back to the woman, apologizing for the disruption, and gently takes the clothes “Thank you. You, uh, need anything?” He asks her last minute

She twists her fingers together now that her hands are free, chewing her lip nervously “Could we talk- when you’re dressed?” She asks, sounding smaller than he’s heard in a while. 

“Yeah, sure.” Arthur says dumbly, watching her nod and walk off back towards the bedroom.

King stays to whine by his feet, begging for attention, so Arthur quickly dresses and gives the dog an acceptable amount of pets before letting him back out with Bear to oversee the pigs and chickens for the night.

Unease churns in his gut, making his footsteps feel heavy as he walks back down to the bedroom while he wonders what Monroe’s thinking- if it has anything to do with her new found legal freedom. His doubts from earlier aren’t helping, memories of the past times he’d messed up replaying in his head, and he can’t shake them off. 

Monroe’s sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees, she’s pulled her hair from her braid and it’s now draped across her shoulders in a mass of waves and curls. He knocks on the door frame to announce his presence, and she jerks in surprise to look at him, as lost in thought as he is. They look at each other for a long moment before Arthur finally breaks the silence.

“Everything okay?” 

Monroe composes herself, and pats the spot on the bed next to her for him to sit down, which he does, and she looks at him with eyes that remind him of the first time they’d met almost a year ago.

“I love you.” She tells him, and Arthur is thrown off by the aggression in which she says it.

“You don’t have to say it back,” She says “But I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time now, along with some other things, and now that I’m completely free from Lawrence, I don’t have an excuse _not_ to.”

He gapes at her a little, trying to catch up, but she keeps going.

“I’m not very good at this, and I’m scared that one day you might realize I’m just damaged goods that doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’ve never been in love before, my marriage was a business deal, and I don’t know how sex actually works.” She blurts one all at once, Arthur struggling to keep up and put her words together.

Once he does though, he feels like he’s been slugged in the gut “You _what_?” 

He wonders how many times he’s going to ask that same question.

Monroe looks thoroughly embarrassed, but she doesn’t back down from meeting his eyes.

Arthur owes an apology to every person he’d ever gotten upset at for calling him stupid, and he decides he’ll start with Hosea first thing in the morning.

“You were married, though.” He says dumbly 

“Yeah, but, that…” She trails for a moment, trying to find the words “That was one sided, and...”

Arthur wants to put a bullet through his own foot, feeling like an insensitive bastard, seeing her struggle to explain what she’d been through. 

Monroe had never expected to meet Arthur, she’s told him as much, so she never thought she’d have a reason to be bothered by the things of her past. He understands because he’d gone through it about Eliza and Isaac, about his relationship with Mary, and the life he lived with Dutch when he’d met Monroe.

She’s been so good to him through it all, helping him where he needed her, giving him space when he couldn’t breathe through the panic and paranoia, and patiently waiting to comfort him after all of it.

“You gotta explain this to me though,” He manages “If you ain’t been sure about this, then why would you...?” He isn’t sure what to call what they’ve been doing, when she’d give him that coy smile and he’d give in every time. The heated moments in the barn, against the walls, on the countertops, or, well, anywhere really. He thinks about the bruises he’s kissed into her skin, the ones pressed into her hips and thighs from over eager hands, and he wonders if he’s been doing something wrong- he hasn’t _felt_ like he has...

“It’s going to sound ridiculous.” She mutters, fiddling with her hair

“Can’t be any more ridiculous than whatever else happens ‘round here.”

He wants to keep it light, he’s just curious why’d she’d tease and goad him so much if she wasn’t sure about what came next- or if she even _wanted_ what came next. He wouldn’t hold that against her if that bastard had scarred her in such a way, that wasn’t what was important, what mattered was that Monroe knew she had a choice.

Right?

Monroe takes a big breath, one that puffs her cheeks before she exhales noisily “Okay. Just- don’t _say_ anything.”

He nods, allowing her to continue.

“I didn’t do it because I felt like I had to, I see that face you’re making, stop thinking bad things about yourself.” She starts, then puts her fidgeting hands in her lap to focus “It’s just… I keep getting reminded that I’m so much younger than you, and I don’t have the experience women your age do- or that _most_ women in general have. I was nervous because what if that was all you saw me as, or what if we _did_ and I completely messed it up, and I was embarrassed because I _don’t_ know what I’m doing, but I didn’t want that to stop me.” 

She started gesturing with her hands midway, unable to stay still as she speaks, and nerves have made her voice shake.

“I love you, so much, and I want everything with you. It probably sounds weird that what happened between Lawrence and I doesn’t really bother me, but I think it’s because of how much I’m able to trust you. I _know_ you’d never hurt me, even if you second guess yourself or look guilty when we get carried away, and I’ve never been afraid of you. So, I wanted to prove that I could be like other women who are confident and appealing, all mature and such…” She trails off, speaking slower now, thumbing the flowers stitched into the hem of her dress “And maybe you’d see me as someone worth wanting, and not just leftovers from another man.”

Arthur is reminded of how small she is in comparison to him despite her full figure and larger than life personality when he grabs her and pulls her to hoand how she’s always fit so well against him no matter how he holds her. 

Even now, she holds no expectations for him to be something he’s not, she’s only ever loved the man he is, yet he’s been so caught up in trivial things that don’t matter he hasn’t seen how much she needs him. He’s only ever focused on how much _he_ needs _her_ , and while for the longest he felt like his actions spoke loud enough, but today he realizes he’s been wrong.

Arthur has to tell her.

He presses a small kiss to her head, feeling her return it against his collar, and he swallows hard before speaking, hoping he doesn’t mess up what he’s about to say.

“I ain’t ever been one for.. _that_ ,” He tells her, and he’s lying, kind of, but that’s a very different conversation “Always been too busy or too hung up on somethin’. Not to mention, sleepin’ with someone I barely know ain’t ever appealed to me, so I ain’t whatever deviant you think I am.”

Monroe giggles at him quietly, giving Arthur more confidence in his words.

“I have _always_ wanted you, though,” He murmurs against her “But I love you more than what you could give me, Monroe. You mean more than what you have or don’t have, and you don’t have to prove nothin’ to nobody- especially me.”

He feels her breath hitch against him as the telltale warm wetness of tears dampen his skin, and he wants to say more, apologize for all his foolishness. He doesn’t, though, because he doesn’t know how to apologize for her fear of what he might think, so he just holds her and hopes it’s enough.

“You’re so _unfair._ ” Monroe sobs out, weakly punching against his chest “Being so stupid perfect and telling me you love me like that, I hate you.”

Arthur feels far from perfect, but it’s worth knowing he’s made her happy.

“No, you don’t.” He chuckles softly, pulling back to look at her teary face, and she manages to pout at him through her crying.

“I _do_ , because you’re _mean_.” She insists, even as Arthur kisses away the tears staining her cheeks

“Mean, huh? How?” He smirks, and Monroe pulls back to gape at him 

“Have you _seen_ yourself?” It comes out strangled, like a muted screech “You’re the most attractive man _ever_ , I see you almost naked so much it’s become bad for my health-”

Arthur chokes at that, disbelief caught in his throat.

“-Then you look at me and do the whole _‘Miss Cadence’_ thing, and when you kiss me, and I-I just _ugh_!” She throws herself backwards on the bed, scowling at the ceiling with tears beading in her eyes.

“I told you this was ridiculous.” She huffs 

The only truly ridiculous thing, Arthur feels, is how captivated he is by the eccentric young woman before him.

“Would you prefer me call you Mrs. Morgan, then?” He asks, and he is well aware he can’t take it back, but there’s something in him that makes him need to ask. It slams his heart against his ribs and scratches at his thoughts like Sam at the bedroom door, demanding to be noticed.

The room goes still before Monroe pops up like a wind up toy “Don’t tease me, Arthur.” She warns, lashes wet and eyes narrow.

Arthur swallows, thinking over the last few days and all he’s been afraid of since that day with John -since _before_ that day with John. He thinks of the fear of failure, of not being good enough, how somehow he’s given Monroe the idea he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him. The fact she was afraid her own inexperience _mattered_ to Arthur in such a base and meaningless way, and that he’s ignored the best thing in his life thinking he was protecting her and himself.

“I’m not.”

She frowns, brow furrowed as she looks at him “Why are you suddenly changing your mind? Just because I cried in your arms about being self conscious in your appeal of me doesn’t make you obligated to marry me.”

He simply shrugs, not really having an answer “Maybe I’m just tired of bein’ a damn fool all the time.” 

It makes a smile tease her lips before she’s back to business, and Arthur shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does.

“I’ve only been divorced for a couple hours, what if I don’t want to get married?” She challenges, crossing her arms

“Then we won’t, it’s up to you, I’m just lettin’ you know maybe it wouldn’t be so bad- bein’ more, together.” He tells her, even if he feels slightly awkward in his wording.

“I still let myself believe you’d never want me as much as I do you, after everything we been through, but you proved me wrong. Maybe I need to try some of that spontaneous stuff you’re so inclined to.” 

Monroe looks at him blankly for a moment before she’s out of the bed like a shot, running out the bedroom, making Arthur jump up in concern “Monroe?” He calls, jogging after her, wondering if he’s messed up, said the wrong thing, and scared her off after everything they just talked about.

She’s back in the kitchen, holding a paper and pen, staring at Arthur “Theodore left two copies in case something happened to one before the wedding. I don’t care what it might look like to others, and I don’t care that we’ve both been fools for far too long. Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” She demands

“Yes.” He tells her without hesitation 

“Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start over with me, in everything?”

“Every word.”

Monroe smiles in relief “Me too,” She says “I want to start over in everything with you.”

Arthur smiles back, looking at the marriage papers in her hand, there’s still a lingering shadow of apprehension, but he’s starting to understand it’s caused by his own self doubt and over thinking. 

Still, though, he has to be somewhat reasonable, you can’t just _get married_ , it doesn’t work like that. There was waiting and planning, and it was supposed to be special wasn’t it? That’s what all the fuss over John and Abigail’s for, to give them a day they’ll never forget.

“I didn’t think you’d be so eager, besides,” Arthur huffs, but he’s too amused to be serious, because there’s an excitement in the air between them “Ain’t there supposed to be a ceremony? Witnesses? Preacher man and rings?”

“I had a wedding, I hated it, I don’t want another.” She’s saying as she hurries about, shoving on a pair of boots “We only need one witness, and Hosea should be back from the shop anytime. We can go ring shopping later.”

“You don’t think it should be more… _more_?” He asks her, shrugging his arms to incompass what he means as he speaks.

“Arthur Morgan,” She stands proud, despite looking silly in her blue dress and clunky boots “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else- ever. I want to be with you forever, even on days like today, and if I even have a _chance_ of marrying the man who’s made me happier than I ever thought I could be, I’m going to take it because I don’t care about the dress or the vows or the ceremony. I care about everything _after_ that. So I need an answer.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head “This _is_ ridiculous,” He mutters before looking back at a hesitant Monroe “But when is it not? C’mon let's go, we’re wastin’ daylight.”

She beams, squeaking as she runs noisily out the door, and Arthur chuckles despite the whiplash today has caused, following his future wife out the door.

_‘Wife.’_ He thinks, smiling to himself _‘Ain’t as bad as I thought.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was a good one, cause the next one’s.. Not so good 👀.
> 
> And I have no idea what’s wrong the the format in the beginning- I guess his lumbago really is a big deal.


	15. Intermission: Lawrence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction of villainy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY YOU GUYS
> 
> I’ve literally had this chapter finished for almost a week, and it was never supposed to be a long chapter anyways.
> 
> Life caught up suddenly, and, while I’m not one to share personal information, I will say it’s been hard. It’s not an excuse to just drop everything for so long, but I really just needed to step back from a lot of stuff for a little while and I knew if I went ahead and posted this I wouldn’t give myself that time. 
> 
> That being said, I am back! I probably won’t update as frequently as before (but weeks of radio silence? Not again) but it’ll most likely be every week rather than every three to five days(ish). 
> 
> This chapter isn’t long, because it is an intermission/transition into the next half of this fic and I wanted to kinda give some background on what’s about to go down. I really love it though, Lawrence was way more interesting to write than I’d expected.
> 
> Please, enjoy, and again, I’m really sorry!

There’s only one thing that matters to Lawrence Hayer.

Power.

And power costs money, so Lawrence made sure he had an endless supply at his disposal, money he used to buy status and the blind loyalty of others. 

It’s laughable how easy it was to manipulate his way through life with a few extra dollars and a charming smile, the imbeciles who treated money like a god sniveling at his feet.

With money came power, and with power came an invulnerability that’s turned the masses into pawns beneath him.

Lawrence felt like a god in his own right, admired by people who didn’t know any better, showered with praise wherever he went, he couldn’t imagine anything better.

Women were easy to come by, flocking him due to his wealth and good looks, they’d do anything just to say he’d let them warm his bed. Unfortunately, high society women are disgustingly prudent, and cry to daddy if you “ _ hurt _ ” them-

As if they knew what real pain was, those piss poor rotten wretches-

Though, there comes a time in a man’s life when he’s expected to  _ settle down _ and take a wife, and Lawrence saw it as a chance to expand his power beyond what he could achieve on his own.

Eliza Bishop was a woman obsessed with her family’s status, refusing to have anything less than the best in all things, and that included her children. So, when her oldest decided he wanted to go play hero with the government, Eliza fixated on her only daughter and Lawrence found his opportunity. It was almost too easy to fall into the woman’s good graces, a smile here, proper words there, and suddenly he’s courting Miss Monroe Bishop- daughter of one of the most successful tradesmen currently living.

If only it had stayed that easy.

Lawrence grinds his teeth, shaking in rage as he rereads the papers he’d been sent, as if that volatile cow had any right to refuse him what was  _ his _ . He refrains from smashing the contents of his desk, composing himself with a loud sigh, not that it matters anymore- seeing how he’s found her.

Did she actually think she could hide from him forever? Between Eliza sending him letters she’s taken from Rolland, and his men in Blackwater seeing her on several occasions, it had been child’s play. 

Flouncing around Blackwater, letting everyone for miles see her, of course word made it back to him. 

All that eagerness to be something, thinking she was anything more than what she was worth on her knees, it’d be amusing if it weren’t so pitiful.

An heiress to a vast fortune who couldn’t have children, while Lawrence never wanted a child it would be irresponsible not to have someone to carry on your legacy. Monroe couldn’t even give him  _ that  _ and yet she has the audacity to act like all she’s good for isn’t family money and a decent fuck.

He looks at the other papers on his desk, files of information on the backwoods redneck who thought he could touch what didn’t belong to him.

Arthur Morgan.

He stares at a grainy photograph, it’s from a wanted poster, but you can still see broad shoulders and a strong jaw, and scars and scruff litter the man’s face. He looks every bit the backwoods Neanderthal he is, and the fact that she chose  _ this  _ over everything Lawrence has given her-

Distain twists his features, and he snarls at the thought of such a brutish thug putting his disgusting paws on his property. He rereads over where his bounty’s been paid off when it should have been impossible, and it reeks of Elliot and Rolland’s meddling. Those two had never liked him, and, while it didn’t bother Lawrence, it had made his marriage harder than it should be. 

Lawrence liked a little fire in his women, those who were soft and cried every time he did anything bored him, and took at the excitement out of it. However, Monroe had fought him from the start, calling him out on every compliment he paid her, refusing his gifts and, on one occasion, dumping boiling soup in his lap. She challenged him, and Lawrence didn’t accept such impudence from a woman, so he made sure she knew exactly where she belonged: beneath him. 

He remembers their first night married, when he held her down and fucked into her, how she hadn’t cried but smashed a vase over his back, and how he hadn’t been able to beat the apology from her after. He thought he’d made his point after a few months, yet she fought him still, but when he took her from her hometown, barred her from her family, and locked away her horse, she didn’t fight as hard. It had been easy to do those things, Eliza eager for help  _ “reform”  _ her daughter’s troubled behavior when Lawrence had Lewis out his woes of Monroe’s willing self sabotage of their marriage. The woman had never appreciated Monroe’s inability to sit still and behave like a proper woman of society, found her daughter’s outspoken attitude distasteful- probably why Lawrence was able to marry her so young.

He’d assumed he had broken her, but he should’ve known better than to assume anything about such a crafty witch. 

Not only had she thought she could leave him, but she thought she could leave and take  _ one hundred thousand dollars  _ from him as well. 

He’d get his pound of flesh.

“Sir,” His doorman calls, entering the study “Your guests have arrived.”

“Send them in.” Lawrence yawns, tossing the papers down and pouring a tumbler of scotch.

The two men that are escorted into his study are ruffians at best, an outdated plague on society, no better than the shit on the bottom of his boot. He detests the thought of having to rely on such distasteful individuals, imagining their dirty boots on his pristine rugs, the awful stench of poor hygiene and cheap liquor. Unfortunately, though, they were his best chance of getting Monroe back and teaching that damned Arthur Morgan a lesson. Having received word from one of his men that these two had personal connections with Morgan, and were looking for him as well, Lawrence had set his inhibitions to the side and extended them an invitation to his home. 

Micah Bell and Dutch Van der Linde stand before him, one looking like a drunken gutter rat and the other a cheap imitation of a rich man. Lawrence motions for them to sit across from him, leaning back in his own chair to sip at his drink.

“It is my understanding that you two men used to run with Arthur Morgan, correct?” He asks, arching a brow

A dark expression takes over Van der Linde’s face, and Lawrence is thrilled by the cold rage he sees.

“He betrayed us, and stole  _ everything  _ from me.” The man seethes, Micah nodding along.

Lawrence feels like a cat with the canary, and sets his tumbler down to lace his fingers together, satisfaction oozing from him as he leans forward “He’s got a nasty habit of taking what doesn’t belong to him, hm?” He nearly purs.

He slides a photo towards the men, letting Dutch pick it up to look, and grins wider when recognition flicks across their faces “Know her?” He asks 

“She’s the one who turned Morgan against us.” Micah drawls, and there’s something  _ off  _ about this man that makes Lawrence curious as to how he became the right hand man to one of the country’s most notorious outlaws.

Oh, well, none of his business anyhow.

“I don’t doubt it,” He muses “She’s always had this…  _ appeal _ .” 

Lawrence thinks of the thrill he’d get when he could overpower her,  _ take  _ her, being able to force a force of nature under him. He thinks of her unconventional beauty, not that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but that the confidence in which she held herself made her more appealing.

Being able to break that spirit, watching how her eyes would become dull and hopeless if he pushed  _ just right _ , the rush of control it gave him to know he  _ owned  _ her completely and totally. That no matter what she did, or where she went, he’d  _ always  _ get her back in the end.

“So, gentlemen,” He smiles, big and charming, if not a little sharp “I have a business proposition for you.”

The two men look intrigued “What kinda  _ proposition  _ you talkin’ ‘bout, partner?” Micah quips, looking far too relaxed in Lawrence‘s opinion.

“The business kind, Mr. Bell, seeing how I am a businessman.” He explains, fingering the rim of his glass “I don’t deal in the back alley panderings like other crooked men, I prefer my reputation as is.”

“And how’s that?” Dutch asks, his gravel tone and dark eyes making Lawrence’s grin predatory, the desire to squash the man beneath his heel coiling in his gut.

“Feared.” He smirks

The two men across from him look uneasy, but it’s a minute expression, they obviously have enough experience in self preservation to know when a man is worthy of the power he holds.

“You bring me back my wife,” He nods to the picture calmly, noticing the way their faces contort in surprise at his sudden change in demeanor “I don’t care how you do it- burn her little shack in the woods for all I care- but she comes back to me  _ alive _ .”

“Just alive?” Micah arches a brow, having expected more, and Lawrence chuckles

“How would she learn her lesson if I coddled her for her behavior? You don’t keep a dog in place with a lax leash, after all.”

“Seems like a callous way to talk about your wife, is all.” The man shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes Lawrence curious of what’s going to happen.

He wasn’t a fan of wildcards, but he’ll make an exception here.

Nevertheless, he takes another sip of his drink before speaking “I’ve given Monroe everything a woman could want: money, jewels, fine clothing, and how does she repay my kindness? By running off and jumping on the cock of some filthy inbred cowboy  _ in the middle of the fucking woods _ .” His voice is rising as he speaks, and he’s practically shouting before he catches himself, clearing his throat to collect himself “So, yes, Mr. Bell, I feel like callousness is called for in this situation.”

Dutch stares at the photograph for a long moment before looking at him, and it’s clear he’s made up his mind when he does “What’s in it for us?” He asks, and there’s a tone of voice that implies he sees through Lawrence's facade.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” He muses “And an extra five for Arthur Morgan’s head on a pike.”

Micah looks to Dutch, the man staring Lawrence down still, and he gets the feeling he’s looking for something.

Well, then, Lawrence supposes he can offer a little…  _ incentive. _

“If you’re torn over some outlaw code, or whatnot,” He waves his hand nonchalantly “Then I’ll let you in on a secret: Arthur Morgan has been pardoned by the law.”

“That ain’t possible, Morgan’s wanted dead or alive!” Micah snaps, suddenly angry, making Lawrence smirk

Simpletons, so easy.

“I’m afraid it is, you see, Monroe’s brother is a rather influential lawman, between his pull and her father’s money, it seems that everyone but  _ your _ bounties were paid off.” He shrugs, watching the men fall into his palms like the pawns they are

There’s only a few moments of deliberation across from him, Lawrence watching the two men murmur back and forth but not caring enough to listen in. In the grand scheme of things, twenty thousand dollars is only a fraction of what Monroe took from him, and it would be worth wringing every last cent he’s lost to her from her hide.

Though, if the two men had refused him, Lawrence would take a smaller delight in seeing his men gun them down before they made it out the door. 

Loose ends are a nasty thing to leave dangling about, especially ones with sentiment for his targets.

“You have yourself a deal.” Van der Linde says darkly, and reaches out to shake on it like gentlemen.

“Wonderful,” Lawrence picks up his tumbler and downs the rest of his drink, ignoring the stinging urge to wash his hands “You’ll find them in Big Valley. I own a cabin in Cumberland Forest, take her there and send word to me.”

He waves them off with little formality after that, turning his back to look out the window behind him as his doorman sees his guests out. Lawrence doesn’t like dragged out meetings, especially with the filth that scurry like scavengers in the dark, but today he’s made quite a few allowances. He pours himself another drink after thoroughly wiping down his hands, and enjoys the warmth it brings as he stares out at his New Austin estate. 

Checking his watch, he decides he has time before his next meeting and heads down to the lounge, whistling to himself. 

In the room is still the woman from his morning, she’s  _ still  _ sniveling in the heap of blankets he’d left her in, naked and bleeding all over his imported furniture.

He’s reminded of his childhood, when he’d find his mother and sisters in the same state, random men leaving his home after dropping wads of bills on the table or floor. His lip curls in disgust, thinking of how hard he’d worked day in and day out yet it was never good enough for them. How they’d rather sell themselves cheap and dirty for a rich man’s pocket change, yet when Lawrence struck oil suddenly  _ his _ money was good enough.

He left them to rot in their filth like the pigs they were.

“Either be useful or get out, I didn’t pay you to cry from a little hair pulling.” He snaps at the woman, amused when she flinches away from him.

She hobbles away, curled up as if to her as far away from him as possible, and he laughs at her pathetic display “All you women are all the same,” He sighs “Playing so coy to get what you want- then complaining when it doesn’t go your way. Money isn’t something easily earned, you have to work for it, so don’t get upset just because it’s hard work. Don’t forget: it was  _ you  _ who chose this, after all.”

She doesn’t say anything, just cries a little harder on her way out, which is fine by him, she was shrill and borish anyways.

Lawrence looks at the blood on his couch with far less amusement, calling out for a maid to clean it up before lighting a cigarette.

He doesn’t bother staying in the room afterwards, his mood soured by memories he’d rather leave locked away, and he heads downstairs trying to repress the thoughts clouding his mind.

_ “Lookit lil’ ol’  _ Larry  _ here, actin’ like he’s hot shit while his momma’s off suckin’ some fat cat’s cock!” _

_ “You think you’ll ever be anythin’ but a whore’s mistake? Ha! Don’t make me laugh boy!”  _

_ “I should’ve killed you the moment you were born!” _

With a shout of frustration, Lawrence reaches for the closest thing to him and throws it across the hallways, the lamp shatters loudly, sending ceramic flying. A stray piece knicks his cheek, blood beading up from the cut before dribbling down his face, it stings just enough to snap him from his rage, and he composes himself. 

He checks his watch again and curses loudly, his spare time wasted on some pathetic whore and bad memories, he doesn’t bother to call about the mess as he hurries down to the coach. His financial advisor and business lawyer arrive soon after, and the three of them ride together to discuss the upcoming meeting. 

It isn’t an important meeting, per say, but Leviticus Cornwall likes to think he’s important in all things, even charity events such as the one he’s going to discuss now. 

He cannot stand people who think so highly of themselves, especially some fat cat who never had to work as hard as Lawrence did to get where he’s at. That coattail riding bastard, so smug about his money and expansion, yet it was all handed to him on a silver platter.

Lawrence wanted to drown the man in his own filth.

He lends half an ear to the other two, nodding and agreeing where it mattered, but his thoughts were on other things- such as what he was going to do with his wife when she got home.

It makes the ride faster, and he hopes it’ll make this meeting go by quicker as well, he doubts so, Leviticus is a long winded bigot- hence why this is his last meeting yet it’s barely three in the afternoon. 

They’re escorted inside, a maid scurrying off to let Cornwall know they’ve arrived, and they’re seated in the parlor to wait with other individuals. Lawrence helps himself to the food and drink provided, grateful that at least the hospitality is quality.

He’s bored quickly, however, and counts that against their host, telling his advisor that the longer they wait the smaller their donation will be.

Time is money, and money is power.

Lawrence cannot afford to lose any of it.

The cut on his cheek itches and people ask about it, he ignores both.

Thankfully, Cornwall shows up sooner rather than later, and they move into an office to start their meeting. It’s boring, as always, and Lawrence’s only entertainment is knowing he’s the most revered man in the room -even above their host- because, as Lawrence told Micah, he has a  _ reputation. _

One gentleman, though, clean cut and obviously unaware of Lawrence’s power, has the gall to huff at Lawrence, commenting that a charity is about the betterment of others in hard situations, like the widows and orphans -it’s  _ always  _ widows and orphans, when will they get new material?- not a way for him to flaunt his money.

“Would you rather me donate pennies? Or should I give up on being a man of business entirely and give my fortune to those in need directly, seeing how, even charities like these still give a cut to the one percent in the end?” He inquires, leaning back in his seat “Just because  _ you  _ would rather squander your wealth on trivial matters like a mistress in three different states, doesn’t mean I will withhold my contribution to save your ego.”

The man stammers out half formed objections, there are others who avert their gaze as well, and Lawrence nearly preens at the obvious high ground he stands upon.

For a moment.

“Big words for a man whose wife ran away with his money in the middle of the night,” Someone manages, sneering at Lawrence “How long did it take you to recover from that, dear boy? Awfully arrogant talk in my opinion.” His words encourage the previously scorned men to chuckle, suddenly confident in the shift of the atmosphere.

It’s like a grandfather chastising a child, however Lawrence is far beyond reddening ears and shrugged shoulders, and he simply crosses his legs with a sigh.

Lawrence turns his gaze to the man three seats down, there’s only nine other businessmen in the room, and the man speaking to him is possibly the oldest of them all. His thin silver hair and deep crows feet give away his age, and he acts as if being so much older gives him the right to address Lawrence in such a manner.

He has the urge to crush the old bastard into dust beneath his heel.

Instead, he folds his hands against the counter top as he leans back forward “Arrogance is assuming I had to recover at all.” He comments idly, head tilting in the slightest “My wife was never privy to important funds, I assumed only fools mixed business and personal money.”

The man gapes, taken back, and Lawrence grins sharp in his direction “Not that it’s any of your business, but, I assure you, I am more than capable of handling my affairs.”

Watching the hush fall over the room isn’t enough to stave the seething rage clawing behind his too stretched grin, but it’s a good start. So, he stands, and adjusts his clothes before speaking once more-

“I am also not a fan of insults, sir, yet I’ve endured two at this meeting. Consider this my parting gift, as I will no longer be conducting business with the likes of you gentlemen,” He turns a flat gaze to Cornwall “Good day, Leviticus.”

He makes sure his donation is still the largest, but not as drastic as he’d originally planned, just enough to make his point before leaving from the meeting. 

He’s wasted enough time listening to overcompensating jabber, taking insults from filth, far too reminded of his younger days.

Not that he can be bothered now, seeing how he has preparations to make for when his wife comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this wasn’t enough plot, then skip the next chapter update too, ‘cause it sure ain’t gonna be there either. 👀
> 
> *scurries away*


	16. Unhindered (Deleted Chapter)

Hey guys,

So, I deleted this chapter because it’s been slowly killing me since I posted it.

I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy writing this chapter, because I did, but ever since I uploaded it I haven’t felt right about it. There was something about this chapter that crossed a line I hadn’t been aware I’d had until afterwards, and I can’t ignore it.

These are my personal convictions, and I’m sorry for anyone’s inconvenience, but I wouldn’t be able to finish this story with this chapter still in it.

The plot of this fic, and the world we’ve built in it means so much more to me than a single chapter of meaningless sex- I hope you understand.

Again, I’m sorry.

— Bitter


	17. Weddings, Worship, and Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a creeper in the woods, John and Abigail get married, Arthur’s unfairly attractive in his unhealthy behavior, oh, and there’s a few surprises too.
> 
> All in a day’s work for Monroe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, don’t ever get a promotion at work, have a toddler’s birthday, and start a new diet all at once.
> 
> You will die, like me, I’m dead, this is the ghost of Bitter warning you from the other side.
> 
> There was also some other things keeping me from posting, and I address those in the previous chapter (it’s also why the ratings and tags are back to their original settings) so if you really want to know, I’d suggest reading Ch.16.
> 
> Other than that! We’re about to witness a rather speedy downhill train wreck that will last a few chapters. 
> 
> You’ve been warned!
> 
> ❤️- Bitter

Monroe feels… itchy.

As if there’s a constant twinge in her nerves she can’t reach, making her twitch and squirm uncomfortably at random times.

She’s being watched.

While tending her garden.

Walking Galahad.

Playing with the dogs.

_ In the bath _ .

The last one made her whole body shudder and, for the first time, she regretted living so secluded in the woods.

The paranoia reminds Monroe of the first few weeks after she’d left New Austin, constantly looking over her shoulder or huddling close to the closest safe person. She takes Sam with her everywhere, and keeps a small revolver hidden under her shirts, the hound picking up on her nerves and keeping extra vigilant. Bear and King do more than a great job protecting her home, Monroe glowing with pride that they haven’t lost the first animal to a predator (barring the fox and chickens, but does that really count? Chickens have a hundred percent mortality rate, so survival was never an option.) 

She still worries, though, because she  _ knows  _ she’s being watched, and seeing how they’ve been able to do so for so long without her catching them makes her stomach curdle with fear.

Arthur’s gone at the ranch from sun up to sun down just about, working hard to maintain and support the life he’s built for his family, and Monroe can’t bring herself to worry him with this. She knows he’d drop everything to help her, and everyone else would too, but they’ve got too much going on to waste time with Monroe’s stalker problem.

“Ugh,” She groans, mixing a large bowl of batter “A  _ stalker _ . That’s the kind of stuff you only hear about in books, or horror stories from prostitutes.”

Sam looks up at her from his dog bed across the kitchen, tilting his head as she speaks to him before settling back into the plush cushion to continue his nap.

Either way, Monroe shoves the thoughts to the back of her mind, refocusing on the counter of food she’s working on.

They’ve got much more important matters at hand.

John and Abigail are finally getting married today, and Monroe couldn’t be more happy for them. They’re all already at the ranch, Monroe taking over cooking for the evening’s events while everyone else worked outside, someone popping in every so often to lend a hand.

Monroe and Abigail have become close over the months, the former teaching the latter everything she knows between the kitchen and the field. Abigail’s a hard worker, one of the hardest she’s met, and her dedication to her family makes Monroe glad they were able to meet.

She steadfastly ignores the twinge of envy that pops up whenever she thinks of John, Abigail,  _ and  _ Jack. It isn’t that she resents others for having what she’ll never have, she just sometimes really hates that she can’t have children of her own.

It’s fine, though, Monroe has Arthur and everyone else to call her family and take care of, she’s more than capable of being happy without kids.

… Right?

Monroe frowns at the yellow goop in her bowl, remembering when she was a little girl and how all she’d wanted was to be a better mother than her own.

“Stupid uterus, can’t even do what you’re  _ supposed  _ to do.” She huffs, pouring the mix in a couple greased pans to bake.

She doesn’t have to remind herself that her failing reproductive organs saved her from having children with a monster.

She also doesn’t acknowledge her sudden sadness, or the wetness blurring her eyes as she tries to make as little of a mess as possible on her countertop.

She  _ hates  _ crying like this, but she hasn’t been able to stop lately.

“Today’s not the day for this.” She sniffs angrily, tossing the bowl with more force than necessary into the sink “Today’s a happy day, and we’re going to celebrate our friends’ happiness.”

Thank God Arthur works so much, the man would probably have an aneurysm if he saw Monroe’s recent episodes.

Monroe manages to finish cooking with a minimal amount of emotional turmoil, keeping herself sated with harsh mutterings as she works.

She’s a little upset still, though, because she isn’t able to figure out how she messed up cooking the green beans, having pulled them from the oven and immediately gagging at the awful stench they gave off.

Monroe’s always made good green beans.

She shoves her frustration in the trash with the beans, along with the dish towel just to muffle the awful smell, and moved on.

Karen is a liar, Monroe also decides as she tests the inside of the cake to see if it’s done -because she’d be  _ damned  _ if she paid what some stuck up baker in town wanted for a  _ cake _ \- because sex has  _ not  _ helped Monroe’s mood at all these past few weeks.

She’d know, they’ve had  _ a lot. _

Monroe snorts at the thought, leaving the cakes to cool while she packs up everything else to take outside to the tables that have been set up.

“Need some help?” Comes a deep voice in the doorway, and Monroe can’t help but smile in their direction.

Charles is standing there, smattered in dirt and mud from working, his hair loosely pulled back in the braids Monroe had given him that morning.

“If you don’t mind helping me set up outside, then yes.” She chimes, grateful for the man’s relaxing demeanor.

Monroe has told Arthur several times she’d fight him for Charles, the man is the best friend anyone could ask for.

He takes a large portion of the packed food, easily carrying the weight, leaving Monroe to hold doors for him “Sorry we couldn’t help more, this seems like a lot of work.” He comments.

Monroe shrugs, not bothered “Everyone’s working hard, today’s a big day.”

“It is.” Charles chuckles, but there’s something there that makes Monroe pause and look at him

He seems… down.

She frowns, setting food on one of the wooden tables outside to reach out and gently touch the man’s arm “You okay?” She asks softly, not wanting to draw attention to the others.

Charles doesn’t speak for a moment, letting Monroe take packed food and set it out “Just been thinking.” 

“That sounds dangerous.” She teases him, wrangling a small smile from the man

He rolls his eyes, but keeps talking “I think I’d like to settle down, find a wife of my own, I just..” He shrugs, as if that clarifies anything.

“Just what? You want to get out there and find a woman- go! You’re not going to get anymore settled down than this.” She gestures to the heavily decorated ranch, white lace and wild flowers covering every available inch of the property. 

Sometimes Monroe forgets that they came from one of the most notorious gangs in the country, that they spent most of their lives stealing and killing for bare minimum, and that they live with the fear that they could wake up and all this be gone. This is their life's  _ dream,  _ Monroe can understand it still being unbelievable that they’ve managed all this.

She takes Charles’ hand, lacing their fingers together, and gives him what she hopes is her most reassuring smile “You deserve to be happy, that’s all Arthur wants for you.”

Charles squeezes her fingers, smiling back at her without that tinge of sorrow from before “Thank you.” He says softly “We’re lucky to have you.”

“Eh,” She shrugs, looking back over the property “I’m not much, but I’m happy you’ll have me.”

“Hey!” They’re startled by Sean’s hollering from the fence “Quit your gabberin’ and do some work huh!? Ol’ English out here’s drivin’ us to death I’ll tell ya! We need some help!”

Arthur yells back something from the barn, but it’s too far away for them to hear, save for Sean who starts shouting back about unfair labor and heatstroke.

“That’s my que to leave, have fun!” Monroe is quick to head back into the house, leaving Charles to “help” Sean and the others.

Back in the kitchen, Monroe begins preparing the completely cooled cake, humming softly to herself as she works. Sam is still on his bed, but something causes him to chuff at the window in warning, making Monroe freeze at the countertop. 

Sam only does this when something’s come too close that he’s not sure about, usually animals passing across the yard or-

_ Strangers _ .

Monroe chances a look out the window Sam’s staring through, it overlooks the west side of the ranch right at the small thicket of trees just outside the fence line. There’s nothing immediately that she can see, and Monroe chalks it up to a passing Pronghorn and her nerves before noticing an unnatural shade of greenish blue flitting in the trees. 

Her blood turns to ice as she stands frozen, watching with a silent scream clawing her throat, as a familiar man peers from the tree line.

“Hey, do you—”

Whatever Lenny was going to ask is cut short by Monroe’s startled scream, and the loud crash of knocking pans to the floor when she jumps.

Lenny blinks at the terrified woman owlishly before asking if he needs to get Arthur, to which Monroe says no and asks what Lenny needs.

“I was just going to ask if you’d know when the others were supposed to be back from town, we can’t finish until they make it back with the rest of the stuff.” He says, and it’s a little awkward between them.

Monroe is doing her best to compose herself, but she’s pretty sure she just saw  _ Micah Bell  _ through the trees, and that the creepy bastard has been watching her bathe for the last two weeks.

“They’re supposed to be back by five,” She manages, then grabs the pocket watch from Arthur’s jacket to check the time “It’s just now four, so it shouldn’t be much longer.” 

Lenny leaves shortly after, obviously bothered by Monroe’s behavior, and she wishes she could bring herself to apologize but she doesn’t think she could come up with a good enough excuse.

That  _ couldn’t  _ have been Micah, right?

She’d only met the man once, so there’s more than a chance she wouldn’t be able to recognize him if she’d seen him..

Fear trickles down her spine, but Sam isn’t bothered anymore, meaning the man’s left for now, so she forces herself to ignore it for now and finish her work.

Today is going to be perfect, creepy guy in the woods be damned.

Hosea, along with Karen and Uncle, arrive back on the wagon just as Monroe is finishing the final touches on John and Abigail’s cake. She helps them unload the goods, most of it things they’d ordered for today that came in late, decorating the tables where she’s been setting up the food, and threatening to hack off Uncle’s fingers if he tries to dig in the casserole  _ one more time _ .

No one mentions noticing a man in the woods, much to her relief.

Monroe is only avoiding Arthur a little, knowing the man has probably heard about her freak out from Lenny, and she doesn’t want to think about having to tell Arthur something that could ruin his whole mindset.

She remembers how paranoid he used to be himself, when they’d first left the Van der Linde gang, and how he’d wake up hoarse from hollering in his sleep.

No, she couldn’t do that to him, especially having not gotten a good enough look at the man to be sure.

Soon enough it’s nearing seven in the evening, the sun just starting to warm in its hue over the land, meaning they’re due to start the ceremony. Sadie and Mary-Beth have been with Abigail in her cabin most of the day, helping the woman prepare and keeping her from John’s prying eyes as per tradition.

Though, they already have children and live together so Monroe’s not sure if this tradition  _ counts _ , but, just because she doesn’t get it doesn’t mean she’s going to deny them their day. They deserve it, and seeing Arthur so proud makes her feel warm with a contentment she thought she’d never feel before she’d met the man.

Arthur, Sean, Lenny, and Charles are placed next to John at the arch of wild flowers and antlers that Monroe and Charles had spent the better part of last week building. Across from them stand Sadie, Mary-Beth, and Karen, all of them beautiful in their long skirts and dresses, hair pinned neatly and complexions complimented with soft makeup.

No one’s dressed fancy, just a nicer than usual, but Monroe can’t help but giggle at Arthur’s slicked back hair and neatly trimmed beard, remembering how he’d grumbled when Hosea insisted he “tame his caveman mane”.

She’d changed into one of her nicer cotton dresses, it’s a soft cream color with embroidered flowers, and she’d braided matching flowers in her hair.

Monroe can feel Arthur staring at her, and it soothes the agitated itch under her skin from the day’s events.

There’s no music, and thankfully no boxes of doves, she wasn’t surprised John had to be talked out of that, but the atmosphere is calm and expecting as they hear the doors to the main house open.

Little Jack walks out first, looking proud of himself as he carries his parent’s rings to the altar, beaming at the compliments he’s paid as he passes everyone. He stands on the other side of his daddy, John looking as proud a father as ever, before everyone turns their eyes back to the doorway.

Abigail is absolutely radiant.

Her white gown trails behind her, and her dark hair is pinned back by a blue gem covered comb, and she’s already teary eyed as Hosea walks her towards John. John himself looks like he might start crying as well, awe clear on his features as he stares at the woman heading his way, and there isn’t a face not smiling at them. When Abigail makes it to the altar, Jack is quick to start gushing over how pretty his mama is, making everyone laugh- albeit a little wet with emotion.

That annoying twinge of envy pulls in Monroe’s chest, and she has to physically rub the sensation away, forcing her attention on how happy they look up there.

The minister is some generic man from a nearby church, but he’s soft spoken and kind, praying over the newlyweds and giving them God’s blessing in their marriage. He reads the same marital scriptures Monroe heard at her first -only? She married Arthur in Hosea’s cabin, after all- wedding ceremony, but it feels less grandiose and more genuine than then.

John fumbles through the beginning of his vows, nervous, but Abigail’s laughter gives him confidence to finish strong. In return, Abigail begins crying as soon as she starts her vows, the happiest Monroe has ever seen her as she sniffs and laughs at the altar with John, and when they say  _ “I do.”  _ Monroe swears even  _ Arthur  _ is tearing up. They kiss under a beautiful sunset, the golden orange and purple sky the perfect backdrop for their moment, and Monroe wishes them all the happiness in the world.

John and Abigail stand presented as man and wife, and everyone promptly goes wild for them.

The rest of the evening is…  _ eventful. _

Sean and Uncle are drunk before they’re all done eating, the former attempting to make the bonfire bigger while the latter tries to offer John his  _ “sagely wisdom” _ in being married.

Monroe doubts Uncle’s ever been married.

“Does anyone know Uncle’s  _ actual  _ name?” She finds herself asking, brow furrowed in thought 

Sadie laughs next to her, pulling a long sip from her beer “Nope, Hosea or Abigail probably would though.” 

Monroe looks to where Hosea is chatting animatedly with Lenny and Abigail is, of course, with her new husband, and she finds little motivation to bother either of them. Instead, she shrugs as well and decides to coerce Sadie into dancing with her at the bonfire Charles had thankfully managed to pull Sean away from. Kieran’s there as well, and Monroe’s pulling him into the dancing as well, the two of them have become close over the months, bonding over horses and fishing trips. 

It’s the most fun she’s had in a long time, twirling between dance partners while Hosea, Uncle, and Lenny sing increasingly inappropriate songs. Monroe doesn’t know the words well enough to sing along, she doesn’t think she wants to either, but she loves it all the same.

John and Abigail join in eventually, dragging a somewhat reluctant Arthur with them, and Sadie is the first one to snatch the man from the couple.

“C’mon, Arthur!” She crows, drunk and exhilarated from the evening’s activities “Show ‘em how it’s done!”

Monroe knows Arthur is thinking he’s nowhere near drunk enough for this, but she also knows the man has cut back on his drinking lately. She’s wondered why, having never said anything to the man, but if she asks he’d just give her some dumb excuse about getting old or some nonsense.

A conversation for another day, she guesses.

Kind of like the one they should be having about creepy men watching them.

Arthur does give in, however, and soon enough he’s spinning people left and right until he’s gotten his hands on Monroe who he holds close enough to whisper deep and rough against her ear.

“I’ve missed you today.”

She shivers, leaning into his warmth and letting him sway her gently “It’s been a busy day.” She murmurs, pressing a soft apology kiss to the underside of his jaw.

His thumbs press insistently into the soft skin of her hips, finding the sensitive jut of bone and massaging there in small circles. Monroe hums at the feeling, letting herself relax more into her husband, inhaling the smell of musk and spice that seems to always cling to him. Such a manly man, she giggles to herself before sliding her hands up his chest to link her fingers behind his neck. 

“It has,” He allows, pressing feather light kisses to her hairline “You did good.”

“You too, and,” Monroe smirks, reaching up just enough to tug at the slicked back hairs at his nape “Not to mention, you clean up pretty good.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, Monroe doesn’t even have to look at him to know, she’s gained such an ability after living with the man this long. He also tugs her closer to rid the scant few inches between them, Monroe molding against the sculpt of Arthur’s build, his hands wandering more than he’d usually allow in such a public setting. He’s most likely drank just enough to loosen up, or he thinks it’s dark enough that the shadows cast from the fire will hide his actions from view.

Though, Monroe puts most of her money on the fact everyone else is too drunk to pay them any mind at the moment.

She feels one hand settle just above the curve of her backside, and the other has anchored itself against her throat, warm and solid against her pulse. His thumb presses against the bottom of her chin, making Monroe look up at him, and she gasps when their eyes meet, warmth flaring in her gut.

He looks  _ hungry _ , eyes dark and glittering against the flickering light of the fire.

She swallows as soft as she can manage, but she knows he’s felt her when his hand slides down to rub at the hollow of her throat. He leans down, once more reminding Monroe of how  _ large  _ her husband is, and she swears if he doesn’t kiss her she’ll bite him.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He murmurs against her lips before pressing against them, firm and seeking.

Arthur kisses her like a devout man prays, wholeheartedly seeking something, as if pouring himself into Monroe would bring him salvation. It’s overwhelming, but Monroe wouldn’t have it any other way, she’d be anything for Arthur, whatever he needed, and she’d love him more than anyone ever had.

She doesn’t  _ need _ this, there’s no self righteous gratification when Arthur does this, when he worships her.

Every lingering gaze, possessive touch, the way he presses reverent kisses against her skin, all of it is Arthur’s way of devoting his entire self to her. 

Monroe is  _ his  _ to give this to, to have this with, no one else.

She doesn’t know why he does it, she guesses it’s most likely caused by his own need for validation, and the thought breaks her heart, so Monroe gives him just that. 

“Just for you.” She whispers when he pulls away, hands moving to cradle his face, and his shy little smile sets Monroe’s stomach alight with butterflies.

Monroe would do anything for this man, she couldn’t imagine taking advantage of such a big heart- she  _ loves  _ him more than she ever thought she could.

Something in the back of her mind tells her there might be something wrong with this, but she doesn’t listen for the time being.

They spend the rest of the night like this, pressed close and murmuring to one another gently under the night sky, they eventually leave the fire, however, when Arthur gives a heavy yawn. It’s most likely only a few hours before the sky begins to lighten, and Monroe can see others beginning to filter out, so she nudges Arthur towards John and Abigail so they can properly congratulate them.

“I’m proud of you, brother, you deserve this.” Arthur tells John, letting the man hug him for a moment.

“Thank you, Arthur.” John smiles, and they continue to talk but Monroe’s already turned her attention to Abigail.

She’s holding a sleeping Jack, her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders as she rocks her son, Monroe smiles softly at her “I hope this was more than you hoped for.” She says quietly, not wanting to wake him.

“So much more, I never thought this could happen.” Abigail is tearing up again, and Monroe feels her own eyes sting with salt, it’s nice though.

“You've worked hard to get here.” She looks down at Jack’s sleeping form, smiling warm at the two of them “And it only gets better.”

“Thank you,” Abigail sniffs, using her free hand to wipe tears before they fall “I know you don’t take credit for it, but you’ve done so much for us. I’m happy we’re family.”

It feels nice, a warm light humming in her chest at Abigail’s words- Monroe loves these people, they  _ are  _ her family, and she’d do anything for them.

They talk a little while longer, and Monroe promises Abigail that she’ll watch Jack while her and John go off for their honeymoon since no one else is responsible enough. It earns her an indignant look from Arthur, but she only shrugs at him, making Abigail snicker behind her hand. Eventually they part ways, too tired to keep awake much longer, John and his family heading to their cabin while Monroe and Arthur take one of the rooms in the main house. Monroe turns out all the lights save a single lantern that washes the room a deep gold, and causes shadows to creep across the floor and walls like tall creatures. 

Arthur unbraids Monroe’s hair, gently pulling flower after flower free as he runs his fingers through her strawberry locks, and Monroe feels like she’d be purring if she had ability. He leaves her hair draped over her shoulder, fuller with extra curls and waves from her updo, he prefers her like this she’s noticed.

He presses tender kisses against her skin as he unlaces the back of her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of cotton and lace at her bare feet. Monroe feels her face warm under Arthur’s gaze, at how his calloused fingers brush against her sensitive skin as he undoes her underthings and lets them fall as well. His eyes are darkened with something that falls in the middle of possession and reverence that makes her shudder.

Monroe lets Arthur redress her in a simple cotton nightgown, the billowy fabric brushing the tops of her knees, and wonders once more why he does this. She wonders where his martyrdom comes from, his worship like behavior, did it start with Dutch? She thinks so, and she also thinks the older man manipulated Arthur’s personality- a simple boy of faith turned into a radical machine, well oiled and fine tuned to fit the needs of its creator.

She begins to wonder if letting Arthur do these things is healthy.

That same niggling from earlier returning louder this time, and it makes Monroe take Arthur’s hands in her own to catch his attention. He looks down at her less intently now, letting her bring his hands to her lips to press small kisses to scarred knuckles.

There’s a fine line between indulging Arthur’s behavior and indulging  _ in  _ Arthur’s behavior, one Monroe doesn’t want to blur or cross.

“Why do you look at me like that?” She asks against the divet between his second and third left knuckle 

“Like what?” His voice his rough from the night’s festivities, and it makes Monroe’s skin prickle

“Like you’d kill a man if I asked.” 

Arthur’s hands twitch, and Monroe kisses them again “I’m not asking if you would,” She says gently, ignoring the electric shift in the atmosphere “I just want to know why.”

Her husband shifts, his throat audibly bobbing with the force of his swallow “Does it really matter all that much?”

“Did it matter to Dutch?” Monroe asks, quirking a brow, it’s a low blow, but she won’t get anywhere otherwise.

“What’s Dutch got to do with this?” Arthur’s voice turns sharp, almost angry, but not defensive, and Monroe takes it as a good sign when he doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t want you to love me like you loved him,” She burrows against his palm, the calloused skin warm and familiar “Call me selfish, but I won’t share any part of you with him. Past or present.”

_ “Okay,”  _ Monroe thinks to herself  _ “Not what I was planning on saying, but, apparently I’ve got my own issues to work out. Being jealous of who your husband might worship more than you can’t be a good thing.” _

The air is so thick Monroe wonders if the wrong words would choke them, but her thoughts are cut short when Arthur takes her face in his hands and pulls her close. She has to balance on her toes, holding onto his shirt for support, and, while the position would look rough to an outsider, Arthur’s hold is gentle, and Monroe feels cradled more than held. 

It’s something she could step away from easy, but she doesn’t-

Arthur knows she would never.

“I wouldn’t  **just** kill a man for you,” He says quiet, but not a whisper, it’s bold in other ways than volume “And you goddamn well know that.”

He lets his fingers curl in her hair, a shiver making her body tremble, anchoring her against him “You wouldn’t let me, though, ‘cause you love me- not what I can do for you.”

“Of course,” Monroe frowns, not understanding “But that’s not-”

“I ain’t ever known any other way to prove myself to somebody else,” He cuts her off, thumb gently brushing across her cheek “Even after all this time, after everthin’ I’ve done, I still ain’t got a damn clue.” 

His hands leave her face and next thing Monroe knows she’s being hoisted into Arthur’s arms and carried into bed, despite the man still being fully dressed.

“You gave me all this,” He continues as he lays Monroe across the bed, only pausing the shuck off his boots and shirt before climbing in after her “Everything a man spent my whole life lyin’ to me ‘bout, you gave me in under a year.”

Arthur presses a kiss to her propped knee before hooking it over his shoulder, making Monroe’s face burn in embarrassment “My faith in Dutch was nothin’ good, but that’s all it was in the end: faith. This, though,” He emphasizes with a kiss to her inner thigh before chuckling 

“I ain’t quite sure what it is.”

Within the next thirty minutes Monroe is sobbing fat, rolling tears into her pillow, scrambling to get away for her husband as he thoroughly ruins her. With every  _ “I love you” “Perfect, absolutely beautiful.” “Just a lil’ more, sweetheart, I got ya.”  _ Monroe wants to claw up the wall with that little strength she’s got left. He keeps her still, though, large hands clamped around her hips or thighs to hold her in place as he erases any doubt in Monroe’s mind.

She still doesn’t fully know if this is a good idea, but Monroe doesn’t think she could survive bringing it up again.

Luckily, she survives this time, falling asleep tucked securely under Arthur’s chin as he rumbles like some sated beast against her. Her last thoughts before she drifts off are how she wishes Arthur knew just how much he was worth to her even without everything he’s done, and if she’ll be able to feel her legs in the morning.

Her thoughts when she wakes up, though, are alarmingly different.

Firstly: she  _ can  _ feel her legs, thank God.

Secondly:  _ bathroom, bathroom,  _ **_BATHROOM!_ **

Monroe barely manages to tumble over Arthur and out of bed in enough time to vault across the hall into the bathroom, becoming reacquainted with her dinner in the sink.

She groans, disgusted and tired, hoping she didn’t get anything in her hair as she looks up to see her reflection in the mirror.

Pale complexion, dark circles, and atrocious bed head stare back at the young woman, the only bright side being her hair is sick free. 

“Monroe?” Arthur skids in the bathroom behind her, worry clear in his voice, blue eyes wide and hair askew from sleeping in pomade. She wants to giggle at him, but the rolling of her stomach suggests it’s a bad idea, so she settles with a small wave at his reflection. He rubs her back in broad circles as she cleans out the sink, his offering to help immediately shut down, and the warmth seeping from his palms feels heavenly.

He also holds her hair back the next two times she gets sick, and sends away people that come to see what all the noise is.

He’s the best, and she would tell him if her mouth wasn’t occupied.

Monroe hates being sick, the awful ache that comes with throwing up and having to gulp air like a fish on shore between bouts of sickness makes her miserable. She just wants to go back to sleep, tuck herself against the warmth of her husband’s chest for a few more hours, but she’s stuck in the bathroom, retching in the bathtub that she’ll have to clean when she’s able.

Sam sneaks into the bathroom at some point, but he simply curls up next to Monroe and stays put.

Though when Kieran comes to the doorway, it’s not because of Monroe

“There’s a, uh, lady here, and she’s, er…  _ persistent. _ ” He fumbles to explain, not having expected to find the two of them in such a state. It had been a while since Monroe’s heard Kieran stumble through his words, the man having become confident in himself over the months.

“Hosea already gone?” Arthur asks, voice gruff

“No sir, he’s keepin’ her from comin’ in the house.” Kieran explains, nervously looking back towards the front of the property “She ain’t too nice, some rich lady from up north she said.”

Monroe groans loudly, but pulls herself shakily to her feet with Arthur’s help, and Kieran hovering by just in case. She cleans out her mouth, washes her face, and throws her hair into a haphazard braid. Looking at herself she decides it’s too much effort to change clothes, and thankfully her sleep clothes are still clean as well, she  _ really  _ doesn’t want to deal with troublesome people today.

“Well, c’mon then,” She sighs “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.”

Arthur still looks worried, rightly so because Monroe  _ knows  _ she looks awful, but he offers her his arm to support herself with “Let's at least get you changed first.” 

She groans, but doesn’t have it in her to argue as they make their way back to the bedroom, and Monroe only has to stop once to fight off a bout of nausea.

“This been happenin’? Gettin’ sick like that?” Arthur asks as he allows her to use him for balance as she shuffles into a random cotton dress, it’s a lovely shade of pale blue she wishes she could appreciate more. 

Monroe pauses, thinking over the last few weeks before nodding “Here and there, yeah, this morning was the worst. It usually doesn’t wake me up, mainly happens during or after breakfast, but I’ve got herbs at home that help.”

Arthur shrugs into a work flannel, nodding along as she speaks “There anything else? Maybe you should see a doctor.” He’s worried, she can see it in how his face twists.

“If it stays like this I will, promise.” She assures him, reaching out and taking his hand “But, for now, let’s go deal with troublesome women.”

“I do that already.” He chuckles, unflinching when Monroe huffs and swats his arm

“Jerk.” She mumbles as they walk down the hallway to the front of the main house, and Arthur just laughs more while she wallows in her misery.

Outside the house is a coach that’s far too nice to be from anywhere local, and the stallions pulling it are well maintained with glossy coats and silken manes. Monroe wants to make a crack about overcompensating, but between the nausea and dread curdling her stomach she has to keep her mouth shut from spewing across the porch.

_ “Lovely imagery, ‘Roe.”  _ She tells herself, ignoring the urge to stand up straighter.

There’s no mistaking the emblem embossed across the coach doors or the man driving the coach, despite having aged more than Monroe remembers. She doesn’t have to see the perfectly coiffed and pinned honey brown curls or dark eyes of a woman scorned to know  _ exactly  _ who is arguing with Hosea in front of the coach, either.

Monroe would know the grating trill of her mother’s voice anywhere.

“I’m going back to bed.” She decides, turning on her heel to walk back into the house when she’s painfully reminded of  _ why  _ she doesn’t talk to her mother.

“Monroe Hayer!” Eliza shouts, and Monroe wasn’t sure how her blood could feel like ice despite the hot anger that flares at being called  _ Hayer  _ “You come down here and greet your mother this instant!”

Monroe wants to pull her hair out, scream at the sky, and possibly light something on fire, all of these are preferable to facing her mother after over six years of avoiding the woman like the plague she is. She can feel Arthur next to her, solid and dependable, he’d let her do whatever she wanted and keep her safe, so she wonders if there’s any need to be afraid.

She takes a deep breath, turning back around and walking to the edge of the porch, but she stops at the top of the stairs, keeping that distinct distance between them. Her knees feel like they’re going to buckle at any given moment, her stomach aches, and she knows how she looks, she doesn’t need Eliza’s scrunched nosed disappointment to tell her anything. 

She doesn’t need a lot from the woman, other than to be left alone.

“What do you want?” She asks, crossing her arms over her stomach 

Eliza takes a deep breath, as if  _ Monroe’s  _ the problem, before speaking

“I’m here to bring you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Tea: Eliza is the early 1900’s Karen


	18. Of Mother’s and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scurries from under a neglected pile of laundry that won’t be folded*
> 
> Hi.
> 
> I’ve missed you, you probably hate me by now- and I’m about to make it so much worse.
> 
> I’ve rewritten this chapter twice, let it stew for a small eternity, rewrote it again, then cried because there’s no happiness to be found here.
> 
> None.
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> Also: I’ve been MIA because every time I turn around some new bomb drops in on my life and nukes EVERYTHING. Not to mention my phone went through a factory reset so I lost everything, and I forgot my Google password, so there’s that. So, I’m really an sorry for the inconsistency, and that I haven’t been replying to comments. 
> 
> Also also: Content warnings for: mentions of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, animal violence, and violence against women. If you struggle with any of these things PLEASE read carefully. None of it’s overly graphic, but it’s there.

######  _ “I’m here to take you home.” _

Monroe blinks, the words buzzing in her head like flies caught in honey, and the only thing keeping her from throwing something is the weakness in her body. She can feel Arthur behind her, radiating warmth against her back, a large part of her wishing she could just sink into the man and pretend this wasn’t happening.

Hosea is trying his best to keep Eliza off the porch, but even she can tell the man’s patience is wearing thin from the condescension directed at him. 

Eliza was never a good woman.

How her father can genuinely love such a person has always been beyond Monroe’s understanding, but he’d always told her she was different when they were younger. 

_ “You’re a lady of society, not some heathen woman.”  _ Eliza had always scolded Monroe  _ “You’re only worth the value others place on you, and at this rate you’ll be lucky to marry a farm boy- Oh! Grandmother Townes would have a fit if she could see you now!” _

Grandmother Townes must be  _ rolling  _ by this point, Monroe thinks. 

Luckily, Grandmother Townes died before Monroe was old enough to be judged for her  _ “inadequacies”,  _ and Monroe only had to hear it from her mother growing up.

Not that it really makes her feel any better.

Monroe has never doubted if her mother loved her-

It’s just everything  _ about  _ Monroe her mother doesn’t love.

Hence years of tutors, lessons, scoldings, reading, etiquette, piano, singing, and that one time Eliza whipped Monroe’s legs so bad she had no choice but to wear skirts for two weeks because the clinging fabric of pants against her whelps made her thighs scream. 

Things that Elliot couldn’t protect her from once he’d finally left to follow his own dreams, things that have stayed with her for years, things that she didn’t know could hurt that much.

Proper living comes with an improper cost, she supposes.

Monroe has begun to wonder if she’s been desensitized, after watching how Arthur and the others react to things she easily overlooks. It’s probably why Arthur’s past has never bothered her, because she’s seen  _ “ _ good people” do worse than Arthur ever has with the flick of their wrist and a stack of bills.

She’d caught Lawrence trying to choke a whore to death in their marriage bed, and when she intervened he simply had one of his men kill the woman out back while he punished Monroe.

She’d seen a poor boy beaten for making eye contact with a man’s wife while taking her coat, and when she tried to stop the man Eliza sent  _ Monroe  _ to her room and fired the boy.

When she was a girl, she’d walked in on a group of older boys pinning a maid to the parlor table, laughing at her crying, and-

“Monroe?” Arthur’s gentle voice pulls Monroe from her thoughts, and she shakes off the heaviness to glance back at her husband. His face is tight with restrained emotion, and she wants nothing more than to kiss the tension away, but she settles for reaching out and gently adjusting the collar of his shirt. She gives him a small smile, tired but sincere, as she smooths the lapels down and buttons the second button of the shirt, and, while he doesn’t smile back, there’s a noticeable slump in his rigid posture. 

As much as she hates it, Monroe  _ has  _ to do something, and letting Eliza stay here would only cause trouble for everyone.

“I’ll ride with Eliza back to our house,” She tells Arthur, swallowing a bitter feeling “She’ll calm down by then and go home before the evening is over. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried about  _ you _ .” Arthur sighs, reaching up and stroking her hair 

Monroe smiles a little brighter, the amount of importance Arthur places on her makes her heart happy, and she places a kiss to her husband’s lips.

“I promise to only get in a little trouble.” She reassures him, and giggles when he snorts and rolls his eyes.

It takes some wiggling, and a promise to take medicine and rest at home if he remembers to bring Galahad home later, but Arthur finally lets her go and she wastes no time getting into her mother’s carriage, striding past her shocked expression.

Monroe doesn’t have it in her to slam open the carriage door, but she wishes she did.

Eliza makes her way in the carriage a moment later, looking at Monroe with an expression twisted in distaste that she’s all too familiar with. 

The driver asks from above them if they’re heading to the train station, and Monroe is quick to tell him they’ll be riding to her home instead. The directions are simple enough, and Eliza is far too busy looking outraged to argue with her daughter as they ride away. She can see Sam trotting alongside the carriage, peeking up at Monroe through the window every so often, and she smiles at the Bloodhound.

It’s quiet for about three minutes before Eliza clears her throat to catch her daughter’s attention. 

“You’ve been…  _ productive,  _ in your absence.” She muses, and Monroe can tell she wants to say something else.

“If building my own homestead, getting remarried, and starting my own business is  _ productive _ , then yeah.” Monroe quips, crossing her legs as she speaks.

She watches a myriad of emotions flit across her mother’s face, the older woman mouthing  _ “remarried” _ as if it’s a foreign language while she settles on staring at Monroe in minor horror.

_ Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t- _

“You married that ruffian?” Eliza seems to be paralyzed in disbelief, eyes wide and jaw flopping “Monroe, he’s a  _ criminal _ !”

“ _ Was  _ a criminal,” Monroe sighs, and turns her head to look out the window, exhaustion making her eyelids heavy “Though, I’d argue that too.  _ Your  _ friends on the other hand-”

“Not this again.” Eliza sounds exasperated, and Monroe can see her caress her temple with one hand “Monroe, I’ve told you time and time again, you were too young to know what you saw!”

“Oh, but I was old enough to be married off to some  _ animal  _ just because he had money.” Monroe almost snarls, but she’s still quietly talking out the window, hands trembling against her lap. 

Suddenly, she misses being five when her mother only cared about her pigtails being even and helping Monroe with her snail collection in the garden. 

She’s almost twenty five, though, and any joy she might’ve found with Eliza is long since dead.

“You were married to a respectable man who ensured your future, Monroe, but instead you’ve chosen to run off with some Wild West hooligan and his band of degenerates!” Her mother’s voice steadily rises until she’s shouting at Monroe from across the carriage, and Monroe can’t help but  _ scream  _ back at the woman.

“ _ He raped me! _ ” Her voice bounces harsh against the carriage walls, stunning her mother “He beat me, locked me away for  _ months _ , and you  _ never cared _ ! All that mattered to you was his money and reputation, even when dad and Elliot tried to tell you what was happening you chose  _ him  _ over your own family!”

Fat, stinging, tears roll down her cheeks, leaving trails of salt that stain her cotton dress.

“Arthur  _ loves me _ , he’s done everything to protect me and his family, and I won’t let you ruin that.”

Eliza gapes at Monroe for a long moment, and the only sound in the carriage is Monroe’s labored breathing and the carriage itself moving along the countryside.

“Monroe..” Eliza sounds devastated, voice wavering with emotion Monroe didn’t know she could feel, and there’s a swell of hope in her chest.

“I will admit, Lawrence wasn’t the man I’d had in mind for you,”

Aaaaaand the hope’s gone.

“But I’m hard pressed to believe such horrid accusations. You weren’t a good wife yourself, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Monroe wants to throw herself out of the carriage and feed herself to the bears, you burn a man’s house down  _ once  _ and they never let you forget it. 

She slouches against her seat, arms crossed over her chest as she stares down her mother with pursed lips before speaking again.

“If only you were as good a mother as a wife, huh?” She spits, eyes hard, and she knows she’s struck a nerve before Eliza reacts.

Her mother’s most notable trait is her vanity, it bleeds into every part of her life and dictated how she raised her children. Only the blind and jealous would say Eliza Bishop was an unattractive woman, even in her older years, her perfectly maintained figure, immaculate hair, and striking features have aged like fine wine. Monroe’s grandparents were the kind of wealthy that came from inheritance and capitalism, good investments and hard work her grandfather said. 

Eliza was raised a cut above the rest, and it showed even now.

Marrying Rolland only solidified Eliza’s self image, and, oh the  _ tragedy _ , when Elliot threw away years of proper upbringing to be a  _ simple lawman _ -

Though Monroe is confused on what part of Elliot’s job was  _ simple _ , considering he could ruin the Pinkertons with a few sheets of paperwork.

It’s probably because he used his job to get out of marrying into the same madness Rolland did.

So, when Elliot was no longer home to be primed and prepped by Eliza, or protect his sister from her, Monroe became the sole focus of their mother.

Flashes of young Monroe’s memories try to flash across her mind, but she pushes them back; she’s grown now, married to a man who loves her as much as she does him, with a fruitful home and a family she’d do anything for. 

The past can’t hurt her, not anymore.

So she watches with a confidence she’d never had with Eliza before, as her mother goes red in the face like a character in one of Jack’s books, and she’s not afraid.

The carriage stops, and a steady voice announces they’ve arrived.

Monroe has a moment of mortification as she realizes she’s aired her dirty laundry for  _ the driver  _ to hear. 

Great.

She climbs from the carriage, ignoring the burning of her ears as she thanks the man, and thanks God she didn’t get sick on the ride over. Not waiting for Eliza, Monroe makes her way inside her home with a new spring in her step, the familiar scenery giving her comfort. From the far side of the property, Monroe hears King’s barking followed by the heavy thud of racing paws and she grins in anticipation. 

Only King runs to her.

Monroe feels her heart drop to her stomach as an almost silent  _ “No.”  _ escapes her in a gasp.

His fur is dirty, twisted and stained with dirt and blood, there’s a tear in his muzzle that is sluggishly oozing red, and his gait is unsteady. He still runs, however, undeterred as he barrels into the arms of his person, King’s wide head pressing against her stomach as he whines in her hold. Sam is sitting at Monroe’s side, whining as well as he licks King’s ruined fur in a show of comfort, his tail swishing softly in the grass.

Monroe holds him, stroking his matted fur while she coos gentle nonsense to try and soothe him, her fingers catching on congealed blood and staining them red. 

“Where’s Bear? Can you find Bear?” She’s trained them to find one another since she’d first brought Bear home, long hours of stubborn puppy antics and hiding in the woods for weeks on end. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken as long with Sam, the animal’s particular breeding making the training easy..

It paid off, especially now as King trots off towards where he’d come from, Sam watches Monroe expectantly, unwilling to leave her behind. 

Monroe looks back to a confused Eliza, the woman holding her skirts up to keep them clean, and tells her it’d be best to wait in the house for them to get back. She doesn’t wait to see if her mother listens, hurrying after King despite the light jog jostling her stomach, but if the carriage ride wasn’t going to make her sick this wouldn’t either.

King is sniffing the air, breath coming out as small chuffs Monroe would normally think were cute, and Sam’s nose is buried in the short grass at their feet. It’s Sam who howls first, having found something, and he trots through the woods at a pace that Monroe can keep up with as King darts to and fro to find Bear.

Deep in the thicket surrounding Monroe’s home, she hears the heavy groan of a man in pain followed by the timbre growl of Bear. Relief floods Monroe, and she runs after the sound, not caring if she’s heard as she calls for Bear, Sam on her heels as King races towards the other dog.

The scene Monroe walks on to is, well, grizzly to say the least.

There’s two men in the woods, one is sprawled across the forest floor, unmoving, and his chest doesn’t rise and fall with the motion of breathing. Monroe can barely make out the jagged skin of the man’s throat, torn and gaping, and the blood that came from it is pooled around the man’s limp body. She doesn’t recognize anything about the man, but anything she might is obscured by blood.

The other man is half way up a tree, leg slowly bleeding from a rather gruesome gash in his calf, Bear’s got him pinned there, snapping his large maul if the man so much as slips down an inch. His tanned complexion is ashen from blood loss, and his lips are trembling but he’s cursing up a storm in a language Monroe recognizes but doesn’t understand.

She also recognizes the bowler’s hat abandoned on the ground at the base of the tree, the necktie the man wears, and his oddly shaven mustache. 

“ _ Javier _ ?” Monroe gapes

King is running around the trees, barking and snarling at the man, and Javier looks to Monroe before hastily trying to scoot higher up the tree. He’s trembling, and not going to last much longer, fear plain on his face as he understands what will happen the moment he falls. 

Monroe remembers what Rolland had said when he’d cleared everyone’s bounties, how Javier was one of them he was able to pay off, she remembers how crestfallen Arthur had been when Javier never appeared at their doorstep with everyone else. 

The man just looks at her, eyes bugging, as if she wasn’t what he’d expected, but he doesn’t say anything to her, only clings tighter to the tree.

Bear jumps high enough to almost snag his pants leg, Javier shouting when it happens, and, if he wasn’t bleeding out and actually in mortal danger, Monroe would’ve found this kind of funny.

She whistles sharply, Sam snaps to attention at the sound while Bear and King freeze, still staring up at Javier.

“Come.” She tells them, and the two listen, but continue to look back at the man in the tree.

“Sit.” She points over by Sam, and they do, sitting back on large haunches with bristled hackles.

“ _ Stay. _ ” Monroe emphasizes, making eye contact with all three of them, solidifying her command.

She wants to check Bear over, make sure he’s okay, but there’s a mangled man in a tree whom her husband loves like a brother and she’d feel really bad if he died on her watch. So she walks to the tree and looks up at Javier, hands on her hips as she tells him it’s alright to come down.

“I’m not an idiot!” He hollers down, bloodied fingers losing their grip, and he slips a good foot down the tree with a panicked yelp.

None of the dogs move, and Monroe gives Javier an unimpressed arch of her brow “I don’t care if you die in the tree,” She calls up to him “But Arthur would, so I can’t leave you up there.” 

Javier seems to soften at the mention of Arthur, but as soon as he does a pained anger rehardens the man “Arthur  _ abandoned  _ us, he took everything from Dutch, and stole our family away! He’s nothing but a rotten bastard!”

“So you’d die in a tree out of spite?” Monroe asks, crossing her arms “Arthur left to save everyone, to give them the life Dutch wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know anything! You’re nothing but a  _ puta  _ who turned Arthur against us!” He shouts, spitting blood 

Monroe sighs before feeling her stomach knot violently, and she has to duck around the tree to vomit, groaning at the putrid taste of bile. She wipes her mouth with the hem of her dress, grimacing at the awful taste on her tongue as she turns back to looking up at Javier. He’s frowning down at her, perplexed, but he isn’t saying anything else so Monroe tries talking to him again.

“Come see for yourself, then,” She offers, gesturing back towards where she came from “Our home isn’t too far off, and you can wait for Arthur to get back while I patch you up- I’ll even cook dinner!”

Javier scrutinizes her for a long moment “What about him?” He nods towards the dead man, and Monroe looks back to the corpse.

She doesn’t want to attract bears. 

“You wanna bury him?” Monroe asks “You didn’t seem all that upset about it.”

Javier barks a laugh, surprising himself “Cleet was an ass, feed him to the crows for all I care.”

He finally shimmies down the thick tree trunk, Monroe stepping back to make room, seeing him closer shows Monroe he’s in worse shape than she’d thought. A lot of it is older, scrapes and cuts that are scabbed over, a faded green bruise across his jaw, and disturbingly predominant dark circles under red rimmed eyes. His face somewhat sunken in, and his skin is tinted with the beginnings of what looks like jaundice. 

Monroe wants to reach out to the man, but she doesn’t, not wanted to overstep, instead she tells Javier to follow her, wishing his pride wouldn’t force him to walk on his hurt leg. The dogs try to growl at him, but Monroe is quick to send them off ahead save for Sam who walks so close to her he nearly trips her several times. Javier doesn’t ask any questions, and the silence is heavy and uncomfortable, but Monroe soldiers on until they’ve breached the tree line and step into the clearing of her property. She peaks back and sees the man is slack jawed as he stares, eyes darting to see the home and everything around it. 

_ “Just wait ‘til Arthur shows you your home.”  _ Monroe can’t help but be hopeful in her thoughts, for her husband’s sake. 

They walk inside, where Eliza is sitting primly on the couch with an old book Monroe remembers having in her childhood and bought on a whim. When she looks up and sees her daughter walk in with a strange and injured man along with two large injured dogs, she looks almost panicked. She drops the book on to the couch and stands, asking what happened as she looks Monroe over with worried eyes.

Monroe isn’t sure how she feels about her mother’s fretting, especially since having not received it in almost twenty years, but she assures the woman she’s fine. 

She walks Javier to the kitchen, he sits at the table and waits, but she can see the questions rattling in his head. 

Surprisingly, Eliza appears with a pale of water and rags “I’ll put this over a fire.” She says, and walks back into the living room where the largest fireplace is. Monroe blinks away her shock, listening to the sounds of wood jostling and flames crackling as she walks into the bathroom towards the medicine cabinet.

God, what even  _ is  _ today?

She collects the balms and salves she needs, along with a couple ointments for good measure, and all of her gauze and bandages, sending a silent thanks to Charles for all his help. 

Back in the kitchen, Javier and the dogs are having a stare off that Monroe finds far too funny for how serious it is. It’s broken as soon as she walks in, however, the three dogs swarming Monroe’s lap when she sits on the floor. She examines Bear first, making sure he isn’t worse off than King, the heavy dog is for the most part unscathed, and she realizes the thick blood on his muzzle and in his teeth was that of the dead man. 

She uses lukewarm water from the sink to clean his fur, cooing and babying the big animal until his tail is thumping loudly against the kitchen floor.

“Hard to believe that’s the same dog from earlier.” Javier’s voice is amused, but also weary and exhausted, and Monroe offers him a gentle smile.

“He’s a big baby under it all, but, uh, sorry. About- er…?” She trails, already forgetting the man’s name.

“Cleet,” Javier shrugs, readjusting his leg with a groan “He had it coming, though, tried to shoot the other one from the bushes.” He gestures to the wound on King’s muzzle.

Monroe nods, getting to her feet to change out the water for King “Speaking of which, why are you even out here?” She asks, keeping her eyes on the water pouring from the faucet.

There’s a long stretch of silence, and Monroe wonders if Javier is trying to come up with a convincing story.

She’s not stupid, she knows why he’s here.

“Dutch sent us.” Javier sighs “Said he couldn’t rest knowing his traitor of a son was so close by, we couldn’t be sure what he’d try and do if he knew we were here.”

Monroe notices that Javier doesn’t sound convinced himself, but she doesn’t comment.

It also confirms her seeing Micah yesterday afternoon, and it makes her blood run cold.

She hides it though, bringing the water back to the floor and starting on King, hushing his whining when she washed a sensitive area or when she had to apply thick salve to his muzzle. She washed his fur meticulously, ignoring her steadily ruining dress in favor of comforting him.

“What were you going to do, if you found Arthur?” She asks when she finishes the last of King’s wounds, gently wrapping a bandage around his front left leg.

She lets the two stay in the house for the evening, worry gnawing at her gut as she thinks of what -or who- could be waiting outside.

“Bring him to Dutch, like we were told.” He admits, but quickly goes quiet as Eliza brings in a smaller bucket of steaming water with some of the clean rags.

The water is set on the counter by Javier, and her mother hovers while Monroe does most of the work, grabbing things Monroe asks for or changing the water as needed. 

Javier’s leg is in bad shape, and she has to give him one of Arthur’s leather belts to bite into as she works on it, but he doesn’t stop her once. He’s lost a lot of blood, so Monroe has Eliza get Javier something to eat from the pantries for when they finish tending to his wounds. 

“Where do you get all of this?” She gapes at Monroe, looking at the heavy bundles of dried meats and fruit, jars of preserves and jams, cheese, and spices and herbs that are kept in the kitchen.

Monroe furrows her brow, unsure of what she’s being asked “Here?” She’s unsure of how to answer “Or the ranch, depending on what I need.”

“You made  _ all  _ of this?” 

“This too,” She muses, holding up the jar of salve she’s currently rubbing into the multitude of knicks and scratches across Javier’s torso “Though, Charles and Hosea help a lot now, and it’s way better than when it was just me.”

Javier flinches harshly under Monroe, and she looks up to see him look at her as if he’s been struck “Charles and Hosea?” He asks, voice small and vulnerable, and something inside Monroe breaks for this poor man.

“Arthur can take you to them tomorrow, to everyone, if you want.” She says softly “There’s a room for you there, too, he made sure there was one for all of you.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the new shine in his eyes is enough.

Monroe works tirelessly until every scrape and bruise on the man is tended to, and then she tells him to eat while she washes off. She leaves him at the counter, heading into the bathroom after she cleans the mess of ruined clothes and bandages. Eliza has wandered off, but she’s too tired to care.

As much as she wants to soak in a hot bath, she forces herself through a thorough cleaning with a bucket of hot soapy water and a couple thick rags. She pulls her damp hair into a loose knot and hurries to change in her room, grabbing some of John’s clothes from the guest room and leaving them on the bed before she heads back to Javier.

She doesn’t want to think of what Dutch being so close means for them all, Arthur and the others more so than herself.

Javier has eaten everything given to him, and Monroe’s glad to see some proper color on his face, she tells him he can change clothes and rest in the guest room while she cooks dinner. He doesn’t thank her outright, but there’s an air of relief coming from the man as he limps past her, and that’s enough for Monroe.

Once she hears the door click shut down the hall, Monroe allows herself to slump against the countertop and panic silently for a moment. She’s so scared she can hardly breathe, her chest feeling like it’s being crushed under the weight of everything that’s happened today, and salty tears begin to sting her eyes. She can’t help but feel like she’s messed up, and if she had just told Arthur about Micah yesterday this would have never happened.

Monroe can’t help but think that  _ anything  _ could be happening to her husband at this moment, and she’s sick at home with  _ her mother  _ and one of the men who is here to break into her home. It doesn’t matter that it’s someone Arthur cares for, because Javier sees Monroe as the woman who caused the loss of his family. She  _ helped  _ him, but she has nothing to assure her that he won’t turn on her the moment he has that chance.

How could she be so  _ stupid _ ?

She sobs silently as she slips down to the floor, knees tucked tight against her chest as she curls in on herself to hide away. Sam and King press up against her, whining at the sounds of her distress as they lick at her gently, Bear is sitting watch at the doorway. She cries for what feels like a small eternity, the clench of her abdomen when she sobs makes her nauseous but there’s nothing to throw up, and once her eyes are finally dry she pulls herself shakily to her feet.

The first thing she notices is that her mother still hasn’t shown up, and something inside Monroe twists nervously, so she creeps from the kitchen to look.

Eliza isn’t in the living room, and the half empty pot of water is boiling harshly over the fire.

It’s been left unattended.

Fear claws up Monroe’s throat, and she finds herself halfway running through her home in search of her mother.

Every room except the guest room where Javier is steadily asleep is empty.

She runs outside, crying out for Eliza in panic, and stops short at the porch steps, and she feels as if her insides have turned to ice.

The driver of the carriage is dead, throat slit, leaning heavily over on one side and stained dark with blood that drips from the driver’s bench and pools around the front wheel. Where the horse would have been strapped in, lay a useless pile of cut leather straps, a trail of hoof prints showing where the horse had run off. The carriage has been ransacked, doors open and clothing strewn across the ground.

Sam is alert next to her, growling loudly but looking down the right side of the porch-

Where Dutch stands holding a blood soaked ribbon that Monroe recognizes as her mother’s choker, she can see the heavy diamond glinting red in his grip.

Monroe stumbles a few steps back, grabbing Sam by his thick collar and pulling him with her, shushing him, but it’s too late. King and Bear come barreling from the doorway, alerted by Sam, and Monroe can’t call them off fast enough, they’re already charging the man.

Gunshots ring out from around the corner of the house, and Monroe screams as Bear hits the wooden flooring with a heavy thump and loud cry. 

King skids to a halt, having been missed, hackles raised as he snarls at Dutch as he stands protectively over a whimpering Bear. Monroe scrambles to keep Sam with her, sore eyes blurring with tears she didn’t think she had left to cry, she tries to call for King but he doesn’t move. 

Dutch cocks his own pistol, aiming down at King.

“No,  _ please _ !” Monroe cries, begging as Dutch looks up at her with eyes that glint like gun metal 

Across the property, Monroe hears before she sees the stables go up in flames, and she sees men with flaming bottles running across her property. 

She whips back around to look at Dutch, terrified, clutching on to Sam with everything she has left

“You took  _ everything  _ from me, young lady,” Dutch’s voice is hard, and there’s an edge of derangement that scares her even more so “And now, you’re going to know what that feels like.”

He pulls the trigger, but King had already been on the move, the bullet barely grazes his left side and he tackles Dutch to the ground. Massive teeth bury into his arm, shaking harshly until the gun clatters to the ground and Dutch’s forearm gives a series of wet crunches under the strength of King’s bite. 

Dutch is shouting, trying to call for Micah, but Monroe is faster this time. She drags Sam into the house, shouting for King, inside she’s quick to find the pump action shotgun Arthur keeps hidden above the doorway. A fire bottle crashes through a window, and Monroe doesn’t think as she runs to the guest room to find Javier, dropping the gun. He’s scrambling from the bed, shouting curses, but his leg is too weak and he’s not fast enough. Another bottle flies through the window, almost hitting him, and Monroe cries for him to lean against her so she can help him out. Sam and King are barking wildly, panicking at the fire and smoke in the house, men are shouting outside, chickens are clucking in panic, and Monroe doesn’t know if she’ll make it out of her own home alive.

She has to try, though. 

Her and Javier stumble through the rapidly burning house, thick smoke making it hard to see or breathe, but they don’t stop. Several more bottles have been thrown into the house, everything Monroe and Arthur had built together swallowed by flames. She can hear her pigs squealing outside, and she closes her eyes tight against the awful noises they make, praying for a miracle. 

They’re able to follow the sounds of Sam and King to the door, it’s still open, and the sunlight is a relief as the two of them collapse onto the porch. 

Breathing in fresh air, Monroe tries not to choke, and she doesn’t notice Micah coming for her until Javier hollars at the man.

It doesn’t matter, Micah grabs Monroe by the hair and yanks her harshly to her feet before she can do anything more than cry out. He’s laughing, and Monroe can see Sam and King preparing to attack Micah, but she can’t risk losing them too. 

Monroe jabs Micah as close to his chest as he can reach, using her elbow and whatever force she can muster to do so, it works just enough to knock the breath from the man and loosen his hold. She manages to pull free, the pain of losing a fistful of hair makes her cry out, but she doesn’t stop, and she  _ runs _ .

Sam and King follow after, and she manages to make it to the tree line and shout for them to go to Arthur before she’s grabbed by a man and thrown to the ground. Sam and King run, howling and barking as they go, and Monroe can only wait for what happens next. 

Hitting the ground hurts, and the impact punches the air from her lungs, everything hurts if she’s being honest. There’s spots in her vision, her breathing is wheezing and tastes like copper, and she can feel where she’s burned and cut her bare feet in the house. She barely manages to haul herself to her knees, only able to watch helplessly as her life burns to the ground around her, and she wishes she had tears left to cry as Dutch and Micah approach her from across the yard. 

The man who threw her is the one who also jerks her harshly to her feet, hands gripping Monroe so tight there will be bruises within the hour, and he’s sneering at her from the corner of her eye.

Javier is limping silently behind them, but he looks far more unsure about what’s going on.

“Still quite the spitfire, I see.” Dutch chuckles, but it’s cold and makes Monroe feel vulnerable under the man’s gaze “I can tell why Arthur likes you, why he would  _ abandon his father _ for someone like you.”

Micah leers, swaggering up to Monroe with a chuckle of his own “You know what they say about them Jezebel women,” He smirks, leaning far too close to Monroe’s face “They always ruin good men, and Arthur was one of the best before you came along and-”

Monroe rears back and slams her head into Micah’s nose with a satisfying  _ crunch _ , grinning with far too many teeth as her shouts and jerks away. He grips his nose with a pathetic noise, and Monroe is reminded of her first time she’d met Micah and Arthur had nearly broken Micah’s jaw. She can’t help the swell of satisfaction she feels despite her life literally burning to the ground around her.

“My husband is  _ still  _ the best.” She spits at him, head held high in defiance

“We’ll surely see about that, Miss.” Dutch says, and with a wave of his hand the man holding Monroe begins to drag her backwards. 

She tries to dig her heels into the ground, ignoring the throbbing agony that accompanies the movement, refusing to be taken without a fight, and she almost gets free when she gets close enough to bite the man holding her till he bleeds.

He curses loudly, pushing her away from him and against Dutch who presses the barrel of his pistol into her side “ _ Don’t  _ test me.” He says, cold and harsh against her ear

“We only need you  _ alive _ , Little Miss,” Micah cackles, nasally from his broken nose “In one piece wasn’t a requirement.”

_ Requirement? _ Monroe frowns, but doesn’t fight against her captures anymore, the word churning harshly in her gut.

Someone  _ wanted  _ Monroe, enough so that they were willing to burn down her home and kill her mother-  _ don’t think about it don’t think about it  _ **_don’t think about it_ ** \- to get her. 

She wanted to ask who, but she wasn’t stupid.

Monroe knew  _ exactly  _ where she was going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hides back under pile*
> 
> Side note: I actually had a Granny Townes, and she was one of those people who thought they could shame you and call it “helping”.


	19. Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and the aftermath of Monroe’s abduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, hi, it’s- um- it’s been a minute.
> 
> A long minute.
> 
> We already knew I was getting increasingly busy, but what I didn’t know was that I’d get the ‘Rona for two weeks and write absolute GARBAGE while high off medication.
> 
> What I’d written was so bad it literally killed any inspiration I had for this fic- UNTIL TODAY.
> 
> That’s right I REWROTE THIS WHOLE CHAPTER IN A DAY AND I HATE MYSELF FOR HAVING DONE SO.
> 
> I’ve forced myself over this awful hurdle and can now actually write something good for y’all and my cowboy thirsty soul.
> 
> Don’t expect much of anything but some Arthur angst and poorly written Javier in this chapter. I’ll make it up to you next chapter (which I swear isn’t gonna be a millions years away)
> 
> Actually, I love like the last five lines of this chapter so much because I’m easy.

It’s been  _ days _ .

Arthur hasn’t slept.

He hasn’t eaten.

Hell, he’d have rode Magnolia to death if it wasn’t for Charles.

Exhaustion clings to Arthur like a heavy coat, his eyes drooping shut more often than not, and he’s almost fallen from his saddle four times that morning. He can’t sleep, though, every time he’s tried he sees the same thing:

Ashes, falling to the ground like snow, the dogs, beaten and burned but all alive as they lead him through the woods, and the burning ruins of his and Monroe’s home. 

Eliza’s dead body that looks eerily like Monroe in his nightmares.

The note he’d found in Dutch’s sprawling script.

_ “I owe you.” _

A vaguely familiar voice stirs Arthur from his morose state

“Alms for the blind?” A haggard old man calls, and Arthur recognizes him as the blind man from outside of Valentine 

“You sir!” He calls, and if it weren’t for the milky white of his eyes Arthur would swear the man could see him “Could you spare some change for a poor old man once more?”

Once more? Arthur shakes the eerie feeling that this man  _ isn’t  _ just a man, because tall tales are for children, and he rummages through his satchel for a handful of coins that clunk heavily in his tin mug.

The man seems surprised with how heavy his cup has become, but his voice is the same gravely wise tone from the first time they’d met.

“You chose the right path, yet dark days lie before you,” He warns Arthur, “And you must once more choose between what was and what may be. Be careful, however, because neither will be the same afterwards.”

“Right,” Arthur frowns, despite the goosebumps prickling his skin “I’ll take your word for it.”

He rides off, where Sadie and Charles are waiting for him up ahead, shaking the ominous feeling from his bones. 

They’ve already set up camp, a small campfire with a small pot bubbling over it and two bed rolls laid out flat, and Arthur hitches Magnolia with the other horses along with food and water before joining them.

He hadn’t wanted to stop, but when Charles and Sadie caught up with him earlier this morning they’d strong-armed him into making camp tonight. Tensions have ran high all day, but winded down with the sun, because Arthur is too damn tired to argue anymore, he just wants to find his wife.

He sits down by the fire, unable to look at the flickering heat without seeing what he’d left behind in Black Bone, his cut coils with unease, and he itches to run into the darkness to cut the distance between him and Monroe a little more.

Instead, Arthur stares at the gold band that glints bright in the fire light trying to ignore the gaping cavern that’s become his core. He doesn’t listen to Sadie talking to Charles, and he doesn’t acknowledge when food is placed next to him.

“Damnit, Arthur!” Sadie snaps, jerking the man into the present, and she’s throwing a boot at him that barely ducks away from. 

“‘The hell was that for?” He demands, hollering when Sadie does hit him with her other boot

“For bein’ a straight fool, that’s what!” She rants “How do you expect to save Monroe if you can’t even stand up straight? All you’re doin’ is killin’ yourself!”

Arthur tries to cut in, denial on the tip of his tongue, but she rolls over him in her irritation “Me and Charles have been followin’ your mopey ass all day to help you, and you ain’t done nothin’ but be a straight jackass! She may be your wife, Arthur Morgan, but she’s also our family, and we’re worried about her too, goddamnit!”

He blinks, taken back as he shuts his mouth, and Charles takes this moment to speak as well.

“Sadie’s right, Arthur,” He says, not unkindly “We’re all worried about Monroe, and if really is Dutch who took her-” 

Charles doesn’t finish because, just like the rest of them, they don’t have any idea what Dutch would do to her.

Arthur thinks of the young mother on the ferry in Blackwater, how’d they’d justified Dutch murdering that poor woman, saying  _ “It had to be done.”,  _ and bile burns his throat.

“It’s Dutch.” Arthur murmurs, voice hoarse, and he tells them about having seen Dutch in Saint Denis all that time ago, and how’d he’d threatened Arthur.

He’d been such a damn fool to think that Dutch would just leave them alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us!?” Sadie hollers, throwing her hands up, on the verge of another tirade “Who knows how long he’s been after us since then!”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea back then, not with everything bein’ so new for everyone.” Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose “You know what woulda happened back then.” 

For once, Sadie doesn’t argue with him- but her fuming expression says she’s still not satisfied.

He tries to rub away the ache forming behind his eyes, but the pressure is insistent, and he wishes he could go back to a week ago when his biggest worry was if Sam was going to chew through his newest pair of boots- again.

They eat a tasteless meal of fire roasted rabbit and canned strawberries, chewing on autopilot as they try to think of anything but their current situation.

“She’ll be okay,” Sadie cuts through the silence, confident as she looks over at Arthur “I mean, Dutch wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.” The words roll off her tongue like a simple truth.

Arthur promptly chokes on his food.

“A  _ what _ !?” He coughs, Charles thumping against his back to clear his airway, Sadie frowns at him.

“Your wife, who is pregnant,” She says slowly, as if Arthur’s turned idiot “Dutch wouldn’t do anything to harm the baby.. Right?”

Gulping sorely needed air, Arthur shakes his head “‘Roe ain’t  _ pregnant _ , Sadie, she can’t have children.” 

Charles’ hand stills against Arthur’s back “Are you sure about that?” He asks carefully

He nods “She told me n’ John herself, went to the doctor when she was having problems and that’s what he found.” 

It’s only a partial lie, they still don’t know about Lawrence, but Monroe’s been nervously discussing with Arthur about telling them for the last few months.

He won’t tell them like this, it wouldn’t be kind to Monroe.

Sadie rolls her eyes, flicking a piece of gristle into the fire “Doctors are idiots, Arthur, most can’t tell an ass from an elbow, not to mention half of them lie just to make more money off folk.”

Arthur isn’t sure, but he swears the world is spinning around him.

“Haven’t you noticed anything…  _ off  _ about Monroe lately?” Charles speaks gentle like, as if raising his voice would break Arthur, and, while part of Arthur wants to scoff at the foolishness of it, he’s grateful.

He feels one step away from falling off a cliff.

Arthur thinks back over the last month or so, and suddenly the mood swings and the fact that Arthur hasn’t eaten so much sweet potato in his life before now seems much more significant. He thinks about her telling him how she seems to get sick like clockwork, and last week when she’d thrown a perfectly good batch of onions to the pigs because she’d claimed they’d gone bad. How she’d been complaining about having to adjust all her pants, frowning in the mirror at the sudden growth along her hips in the mornings when she was getting dressed. 

Arthur hadn’t thought anything of it, and now he feels like a damn idiot for not realizing you don’t just get random growths in your hips. 

“Now that you mention it..” He trails off with a sigh, running a hand through already stress tangled hair “That don’t guarantee nothin’ though- does it?”

The doubtful grimace on Sadie’s face does nothing to reassure him.

Arthur’s stomach feels like it’s plummeting, and if he weren’t already sitting down he’d have lost his footing and stumbled, he feels like he’s going to be sick himself.

They’re going to have a baby, and-

Dutch has his wife.

His  _ pregnant  _ wife.

Arthur hauls himself back to his feet, ignoring the spinning in his head -he can’t just sit around anymore- and he tries to make his way to Magnolia, but Charles is quicker than him. 

The man grabs his elbow, stopping Arthur, asking what he’s doing as if it weren’t obvious.

“ _ Charles, _ ” He chokes out, trembling with a mix of emotions he’s never known how to handle “She’s- she-”

“It’s alright, Arthur,” He murmurs softly, full of assurance “Monroe’s going to be okay, and we’re going to find her, but you’re no good to her like this.”

It hits him hard in the chest, knocking what little breath Arthur has from his lungs, harder then when Sadie had yelled at him for it earlier. He almost staggers, but keeps himself upright, and, taking a deep breath, apologizes to the both of them, trying to keep the emotion from clogging his throat. 

All this time they’ve been far better to him than he deserves, and he’s been piss poor in response.

He looks up to the dusk dulled sky, heavy boned and weary, and admits to himself he’s not okay.

“We’ll find her, together.” Charles tells him

Arthur wishes he didn’t feel like their conversation ain’t done nothing but run a damn circle for half an hour.

They’re walking back to the campfire when rustling from the trees garners their attention.

“Who goes there?” Sadie calls, reaching for her sawed off shotgun

“It’s me, don’t shoot!” A familiar voice calls, a man hobbling between the tree line 

“ _ Javier? _ ” She gasps

Javier gives them a small, genuine, smile, but his eyes are heavily ringed and full of regret.

Charles is greeting Javier as well, surprised but happy to see the other man, but all Arthur feels is ice pooling in his gut. 

There’s no way Javier just  _ found _ them- now of all times- not with Dutch having just burned down Arthur’s home and took his wife, who-

Who’s having his  _ child _ , stranded away with  _ Micah  _ somewhere, going through God knows what.

White noise screams between Arthur’s ears, waves of fear and anger crash against his ribcage, and the world around him is blurring into nothingness. 

He can’t  _ breathe,  _ despite the ache from how hard his lungs heave.

“Arthur, stop!”

_ Why is Charles yelling at him? _

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, let him go!”

_ Let who go? _

Two sets of hands on him snap him back into the moment.

Arthur blinks harshly, looking down to find he’s grabbed Javier and pinned the man to the ground, his knuckles aching and bloody to match the busted nose and blackened eye Javier now has. The man isn’t even fighting back, just loosely gripping Arthur’s wrists and apologizing, voice broken and trembling.

“Where is she?” Arthur’s own voice shakes, and he jerks Javier roughly before shouting again “ _ Where is she!? _ ”

Javier coughs, blood hitting Arthur’s cheek and chin and dribbling down the man’s lips “A cabin,” He croaks “A cabin in Cumberland Forest.”

Dropping Javier, Arthur curses loudly because he’s been going the  _ wrong damn way _ . Dutch had laid a trail that he fell for perfectly, and now there’s no telling what could’ve happened in the time he’s wasted chasing geese.

Charles helps prop Javier up, offering the man water that he uses to rinse his mouth out, Sadie is sitting back on the log just watching.

“Some man offered Dutch money, lots of it, for the girl, said she’d stolen from him and ran, but Dutch didn’t tell us that until-” He cuts off, swallowing harshly “Until after.”

It feels like a kick to the chest, the air leaving Arthur in a pained  _ ‘whoosh’  _ as he realizes what’s happened to his wife. 

Dutch didn’t take Monroe to lure out Arthur, Dutch took Monroe because  _ Lawrence Hayer  _ paid him to.

This was a job and Arthur was just a goddamn  _ bonus _ .

“After what?” Charles asks, tending to Javier’s face, breaking Arthur from his thoughts.

Javier flinches, hissing when a tender spot is touched, but continues “After they burned everything. I-I was in the house with her, she treated my wounds after her dogs found me. She could’ve left me to die like Cleet, but she didn’t, because she knew who I was, she said it would’ve hurt you.”

It would have, Arthur thinks somberly, it would have almost killed him if he’d found Javier dead.

“She fed me, gave me clothes and a real bed to sleep in, even though I’d threatened her and you,” He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe it despite it happening “She came back for me, in the fire, saved my life, and I just let Dutch take her.”

“He never mentioned her in the plan, said Cleet and I were just supposed to go after you, Arthur, but when Dutch showed up it.. It was  _ awful _ , him and Micah, they killed innocent people, and the things they said they were going to do.. I- I couldn’t do nothing, so I left to find you.”

Arthur swallows, it’s thick and painful, he feels like every word Javier says carves another chunk from his core, but he needs to know more.

“You just  _ left her? _ ” He hardly recognizes his own voice, Javier flinching at the tone

“What did they do to her?” Charles asks, collected as ever despite the hardness in his eyes 

Javier looks away, shame and pain etched into his broken features “Smacked her around, mostly, because she never stopped fighting- she bit off one of Joe’s fingers.” He chuckles, but it’s hollow “He..  _ Micah _ .. He tried to sneak into the room she’s kept in, there was a lot of screaming, and he came running out bleeding- she’d stabbed him pretty bad. Micah was going to kill her, but Dutch stopped him, that’s when I finally demanded the truth from them- I shouldn’t have waited..”

Arthur feels uncomfortably numb, static screaming between his ears at the thought of  _ anyone  _ raising their hand to Monroe, and for Micah to… His fingers twitch, itching for his revolver.

“Which was?” Sadie cuts in icily

“That they were after Monroe, like I said,” He sighs, shoulders slumping as Charles finishes “That they’d use her to lure you out, kill you, and get the bonus money for having her alive and Arthur Morgan dead. Dutch blames her for you leaving, and Micah’s using it to his advantage. I can lead you straight to her, I know the shortcut they were given to get away so quick.” 

“Why should I trust you?” Arthur snaps, almost like a rabid dog, clenching his fists before they can grab at his guns

Javier reaches in his pocket with trembling fingers and he pulls out a small jar with a familiar label, Monroe’s neat print inked across “She used this on my bruises, it was like a miracle cream, I couldn’t help myself and nabbed it when she wasn’t looking.”

Charles is the one who takes the jar, inspecting the blood and dirt smudged glass before nodding “This is one of the new batches, she was real proud of how it turned out, especially the smell.” He chuckles.

Sadie’s cursing loudly, standing and kicking dirt as she paces, a string of foul muttering falling from her lips.

Arthur feels like the world is falling from beneath his feet, cracking open into a never ending gorge threatening to swallow him whole in an instant. All he can see is the disappointment on Monroe’s face the day he’d told her he hadn’t wanted children, and how she’s being handed off to a man who would have her dead before the year was out. He can’t allow himself to think what a man like Lawrence would do to Monroe once he figured out she was pregnant, what he would do to their-

He chokes on a sob that  _ hurts _ , and it takes what little strength Arthur has not to fall to his knees and scream at the sky. Salt blurs his vision, stains his cheeks, and mattes in his beard, but he doesn’t move to stop the stinging flow. 

“If we leave now, we can be there by tomorrow evening.” Javier offers, soft spoken but shocked in the face of Arthur’s tears.

“The horses won’t make that trip without rest,” Charles murmurs “We’ll have to wait till at least dawn.”

“So what?” Sadie snaps, throwing her arms up “We lay here like a buncha damn invalids?”

“No,” Javier huffs, but it’s a bitter amusement “I can give you a lay of the place, and we can make a plan while we’re here.”

Arthur nods, everyone having turned to look at him, silent because he doesn’t trust his voice, and he lets himself drop unceremoniously onto the ground by the fire.

Javier tells them everything he’s seen, carving a crude map of the place into the dirt with a stick, the handful of acres the posh cabin sits on is boarded by a thick forest that hides it from view, and there’s at least six extra gunmen between Dutch and Lawrence guarding the property. There’s only one way to the cabin, a narrow dirt road that’s meant to give complete visibility to whoever is coming by, coming in any other way usually ends in a body full of lead. 

“Monroe’s being kept in the master bedroom here,” Javier points out, marking the area of the layout with an ‘X’ “There’s a window in the blindspot of the place in the room next door.” He circles that spot as well 

“I‘ll distract them while one of you sneak into the house, after the fiasco with Micah no one’s allowed in Monroe’s room unless to drop off food- all you have to do is get in there unnoticed.”

“What about the rest of us?” Sadie muses, lips twisted in a small frown

“Wait in the woods, it’s dense enough for good cover, if anything goes wrong I’ll signal for help.” Charles answers

“Arthur’s not goin’ in?” Sadie’s frown deepens, and, as much as Arthur wishes he could say he was, he knows why he’s not.

Dutch is waiting for him.

“They’ll be expecting him,” Javier tells her “S’all Micah’s been talking about since we got to the cabin.” His expression sours as he talks

“Charles’s the best choice,” Arthur says, giving the man his full confidence “He’s the fastest and the most quiet. He’s the only one who could get in and out without gettin’ caught.”

As much as Arthur wants to beat the life from Micah, make the man swallow his gun and  _ choke  _ as he begs for mercy he won’t get, he can’t risk being caught while Monroe is still in the house. 

After she gets out, however…

“What about Micah and Dutch, we just gon’ leave ‘em be after everything they’ve done?” Sadie cuts back in “I’ve got half a mind to shoot the bastards on sight, what do you think Arthur?”

He sighs, it’s heavy and bone deep, pulling what feels like years of weariness from his soul, this wasn’t something he’d wanted to think about. He’d known since Saint Denis that the next time he’d see Dutch only one of them would walk away from their encounter, and Arthur remembers the fear in Dutch’s eyes when he’d grabbed the man on the street. How small Dutch now seemed compared to Arthur, and how he could have easily beaten the man in the streets of Saint Denis. 

_ Micah,  _ however, Arthur has no qualms with putting a well earned bullet between the rat’s eyes- the only thing that had kept the sniveling bastard alive back then had been Arthur’s loyalty to Dutch.

A loyalty that’s been long dead and buried.

Arthur can feel Javier’s eyes on him, the man’s posture stuff from more than just pain, anticipation clear on his face as he waits for Arthur to answer. 

“It’d be best to avoid a fight,” The words taste bitter, but he keeps talking “As much as I want to string Micah from a damn tree, we can’t risk gettin’ caught. There’s always next time.”

“You think there’ll be a next time?” Charles asks, brows raised in surprise 

Arthur snorts with little humor “Long as one of us is still breathin’, there’ll always be a next time.”

It’s an unforgiving truth, reminding Arthur of a vicious cycle that’ll never end, a winding path to nowhere.

Javier coughs, voice cracking “I caught wind of some big money down by the border to Mexico, lots of gold, it should be a big enough score to lure Dutch away.”

Sadie shoots to her feet like a pissed cat, hackles raised and teeth bared “You’re gonna  _ stay  _ with that sack a’ shit?! After what he did- what he’s tryin’ to do!?” 

“I owe Dutch my life, what else could I do?! Abandon him, like you did? It’s  _ your  _ fault this happened in the first place!” Javier shouts back, ending with a small coughing fit, but surprisingly not choking as he does so.

“Our fault!?” Sadie looks half a second from strangling the man “Dutch was goin’ off the rails  _ long  _ before all this! You don’t even know, seein’ how far your head’s up his ass, what Arthur’s done for all of us since we left!”

“Sadie,” Charles tries to defuse the situation, getting to his feet as well “Javier is giving us time. Think of Monroe and Arthur, how are they supposed to have a baby of Dutch is after us? And Jack, he deserves a safe childhood too, doesn’t he?”

Sadie snarls, but doesn’t argue, kicking at the dirt like before as she grumbles something to Charles that Arthur can’t make out. It must be good, because Charles gives her a small smile and the tension bleeds from her shoulders as they walk away talking quietly to one another.

“You’re having a baby?” Javier is looking at Arthur like he can’t quite believe it, and Arthur feels his face heat as he scratches his neck nervously.

“S’what it looks like, won’t know for sure ‘til we find a good doctor though.” There’s a flutter of emotion in Arthur’s stomach that feels a lot like excitement and anticipation, as if acknowledging that  _ his _ wife is having  _ his  _ baby has given Arthur a flare of newfound hope.

Javier gapes at Arthur, as if he’s never seen the man before or he’s waiting for the punchline, and after an uncomfortably long moment he shakes his head.

“Sorry,” He huffs “I just never imagined, ya know?  _ The  _ Arthur Morgan settled down and having a baby, always thought you’d live and die by the gun.”

Arthur looks up to the darkened sky, stars brightening a moonless night, hues flickering from the fire as he breathes in the night air “I did too.” He admits as he exhales “Even when I left and bought the ranch, or when everyone started showin’ up, I still felt like I was nothin’ but an outlaw. Like folks would look at me an’  _ know,  _ then I’d have Pinkertons at my place blowin’ bullet holes through my walls.”

“Can’t tell you how many times ‘Roe’s found me outside waitin’ for a fight that wasn’t comin’.”

“She really your wife?” Javier asks

Arthur smiles, small and bittersweet 

“She’s my everything.” He admits into the night.

Charles and Sadie return with Boaz in tow, hitching the horse with the others, Javier thanks them, but Arthur filters out their conversation as he lays back onto the ground.

There’s no more talking after that, just the gentle crackling of fire as Arthur stargazes until he can’t keep his eyes open, and he falls asleep to the phantom smell of peaches. 

  
  


They greet the dawn with grim eagerness, silent as they pack up camp and saddle horses, the air thick with tension. It’s unfortunate that they won’t make it to Lawrence’s cabin until tomorrow morning, but no one comments on it.

Thunder cracks in the distance, but there’s not a cloud to be seen, and Arthur can’t help but find the weather fitting for the occasion. 

Javier is riding ahead with Charles, the two men discussing amount themselves as Sadie rides behind with Arthur and offers the man a bread roll. 

“Thanks.” He murmurs, taking a large bite of the still soft roll

“Don’t need you fallin’ dead off your horse.” She shrugs, looking ahead “So,” She doesn’t finish

“So?” Arthur cocks a brow at her, still chewing

“I know what you said last night, but there’s no way in hell you’re  _ actually  _ lettin’ those two go is there?” 

He swallows the last of the bread, peeking under the brim of his hat to make sure Javier isn’t paying them any attention before speaking “We ain’t avoidin’ a fight, you know that, and there ain’t a chance Dutch don’t know why Javier left- they’ll be waitin’ for all of us.”

“What then? If they’re waitin’ for us why try to sneak in, why not just blow ‘em all to Hell?” 

“Still don’t wanna risk Monroe gettin’ hurt.” He muses, gut clenching at the thought 

“She’s already hurt from the sounds of it,” Sadie looks at Arthur as she speaks “How can we actually trust Javier if he’s still loyal to Dutch?”

Arthur rubs his eyes, trying to chase away the oncoming pressure behind them “We can’t- not fully- but he’s the fastest way to Monroe and Dutch. If there’s fallout, we’ll deal with it.” 

Sadie nods, but she’s thinking about something “Ya know, Javier also never told us who hired them to take her.”

Ice fills Arthur’s stomach “You reckon he knows?”

“I think you do.” She says, staring him down “I saw the way you looked when Javier said some rich feller paid ‘em for her.”

There’s a heavy moment of silence between them, tense on Arthur’s part and expectant on Sadie’s, and Arthur uses it to weigh his options.

Telling Sadie could be helpful, but would it matter in the end if Monroe didn’t see it that way? Could he risk betraying her trust if it meant giving them a better chance of saving her? 

If Lawrence was there when they showed up, it’d be a shit show of ‘who said what’ and there’d be no way to keep Monroe’s past hidden from everyone. 

What if they didn’t trust Monroe after this? Family was supposed to have no secrets, at least to them- would they think Monroe didn’t trust  _ them _ ? 

Sure, she burned the bastard’s house down, but it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.

“I can feel you overthinkin’ this.” Sadie quips, unimpressed “Ain’t no one gonna care as long as she’s safe, no surprise that that girl’s got more secrets than a magic man.”

Arthur snorts at the comparison.

“He was her husband.” He says, suddenly and quietly into the air, pulling Magnolia a little slower behind the other two ahead of them.

“ _ I remember you tellin’ me a bit about that.” _ ” Sadie frowns, disbelief clear on her face “You think that bastard would try somethin’ like that?”

“Her ma married her off young, liked his money and whatnot.” He murmurs bitterly “Liked it enough to ignore how bad a man he was, reckon he thinks he can get away with anything because of it.”

Sadie sighs, adjusting her hat over her brow “Well, shit,” She glances up towards Javier “Start from the beginnin’ I guess.”

Arthur does, telling Sadie the bare bones of Monroe’s marriage to Lawrence and how she’d run away with the Downes ending up in Valentine where they’d met.

He tells her the lighter parts, like when she’d met Hosea after the bar fight in Rhodes and then visiting her homestead for the first time.

It’s nice, he finds, being able to talk to someone else, hearing Sadie’s humming replies or small bits of commentary on things, he hasn’t realized keeping so much to himself could be this heavy.

Sadie chokes on a bark of laughter when he tells her they’d been married not even fifteen minutes after she’d been officially divorced, almost falling off Bob in the process.

“You two having fun back there?” Charles calls, cocking a brow at them with mild amusement.

“More than you two, that’s for sure.” 

Arthur snorts, it’s loud and ugly and sends Sadie into a fit that almost throws her off Bob, causing Charles to laugh as well. The tension in the air seems to dissipate, and Arthur feels the weighted knot in his chest loosen just enough to finally breathe easily.

Javier looks between them with something akin to sorrow, a deep loneliness etching itself into the exhausted lines of his face. He’s hurt, guilty, and totally alone, leading Arthur to Dutch to betray either one of them. It’d be a lie to say Arthur hasn’t missed Javier something fierce, and it’s that feeling that has him swapping riding spots with Charles despite both men’s questioning looks. 

Javier looks at Arthur, but he’s so much smaller than he remembers, a hollowed shell of the man he’d been before, the light in his eyes is dull and shuttered. Where he used to be a beacon of good times and warmth, he’s now hunched over and jaundice from God knows what.

“Why’re you doin’ this?” He asks, unable to help himself “When Dutch figures out what’s happenin’ he won’t see you as loyal no more.”

The other man flinches, but it’s more reflexes seeing how there’s a pull of resignation on his lips “I know.” He murmurs, looking away

“I tried to warn ya.” Arthur sighs, words as gentle as he can manage

“It’s because you left,  _ that’s  _ what changed him.” Javier defends, but he sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

“How long you gonna keep makin’ excuses for him?” He wants to snap, shake Javier until the man  _ sees  _ what’s going on, but he doesn’t “Until he finally kills you?” 

“Dutch wouldn’t-”

“He pulled a gun on me in Saint Denis a while back,” Arthur cuts in, staring ahead “Threatened me and my wife, and told me the next time he saw me was to kill me- After twenty years of faith and loyalty. He’s holding a pregnant woman hostage to sell her off to a man who’ll probably end up killin’ her anyways, a woman who saved your life  _ twice _ .”

Javier is silent, so Arthur speaks some more, breathing deeply to calm the viscous anger clawing up his lungs.

“There’s room and work at the ranch, if you want it.” He offers, startling the other man “But you gotta decide what really matters to ya: Dutch, or your family.”

“My family?” It’s small and timid, but Javier’s voice is filled with so much hope Arthur almost aches for the man

He nods “We’ve all been waitin’ for ya, Javier, it’s just up to you.”

A ghost of a smile creeps on Javier’s face, and Arthur gets the feeling they’re going to be alright.

The next few hours of riding are quiet, a few comments tossed back and forth, but there’s nothing left to talk about. They’re plan is set, and, while Arthur is sure it’ll end in bullets and blaze, he’s confident in everyone’s safety.

They’re riding through a open meadow, when he hears voices from the woods east of them

“.... You’ve quite the knack for these things, Miss, I must say I’m grateful for your help!”

Albert Mason?

Arthur frowns, nudging Magnolia to a stop as he frowns in recognition of the man’s voice, but he’s surprised to hear it not hollering for help.

“It’s the least I can do,” A soft voice answers, and Arthur all but falls off his mount in his haste “If you hadn’t come by I’d still be in that cabin.”

Arthur  _ runs,  _ ignoring the others calling behind him. 

“An awful predicament, indeed.” Mason says somberly, followed by a hiss of pain 

“Sorry, that bullet got you good, I’m almost done.”

“No.. no worries, Miss..” 

Arthur bursts through the tree line, scaring a half unconscious Albert Mason awake with a rather feminine shout, the man almost coming out of his skin.

He’ll apologize later, because all he’s currently concerned with are the round green eyes and tousled strawberry curls facing him, freckles smudged with dirt and blood, and a soft pair of pink lips open in a small ‘o’ of surprise.

Her dress is ruined, tattered and torn beyond repair, he can see where she’s been grabbed along her arms and legs, and a faint ring of fingerprints across her throat. Fresh blood washes her hands red, and as much as Arthur wants to be  _ furious,  _ he can’t summon anything but desperation as he stares down at his wife.

“ _ Arthur _ ?” Monroe breathes, tears collecting in thick lashes as the man in question falls to his knees in front of her.

“You’re okay.” He croaks, hands trembling as he grabs tenderly at his wife’s bruised face 

“I’m okay.” She sobs, nodding almost frantically in his hands 

Arthur feels like he’s made of air, the weight inside of him turning to nothingness as he pulls her against his chest and holds her as if letting go would kill him. He’s murmuring nonsense into her hair, but he can’t help it, he can feel his shirt soaking with tears as she hiccups against him. 

She’s smiling, though, when she looks back up at him, bright and beautiful despite the various shades of bruising across her face and the nasty split in her bottom lip. 

“Er, I hate to interrupt such a touching moment,” Albert coughs uncomfortably “But might I have some assistance?” 

Monroe gasps, flinging herself from Arthur’s arms in her haste to scramble back to Albert with rose stained cheeks and hurried apologies.

When Arthur looks, he sees the problem and winces in sympathy for the man.

He’s been shot, the bullet ripping a grizzly path along his outer thigh that’s turned his pants leg almost black with blood, his pale and trembling as Monroe picks back up helping the man.

“What the  _ hell  _ happened here?” Arthur manages, throat thick with something he can’t identify, moving to help Monroe.

“A lot.” Monroe admits, tearing the hole in Albert’s pants until the pants leg comes off a few inches above the awful wound. He’s got other patches and hastily made bandages across his body, the man’s vest and button down shirt having been used for materials if the flimsy cotton union suit he’s wearing from the waist up explains anything. 

“We’ll talk after.” She tells him, and pours a canteen of  _ foul  _ smelling liquid across the wound.

Albert screams, full bodied and  _ loud _ , before his eyes roll back into his head and his body hits the ground with a solid thud.

“Did you just  _ kill  _ him?” Arthur gapes

“Kill who?” It’s Sadie and Charles, coming through the tree line after having followed Arthur

Monroe gives Arthur a look as flat and dry as the desert.

Yeah, Arthur thinks to himself as Sadie begins to lose her mind over the sight of Monroe, they can talk later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost feel like I owe y’all the porn I skimped from y’all for doing this.


	20. Mosaic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened in the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🤍❤️Merry-Happy-Christmas-Holidays!❤️🤍  
> Here’s your present! Monroe’s POV of her time in the cabin! I can’t help but love writing her point of view, because it’s just so fun and fresh.
> 
> Warning: This chapter is rough in some places, attempted assault (sexual and non), graphic violence, along with references to and actual minor self harm.
> 
> (Spoilers: sorta, like we knew this was gonna happen- we’re all sluts for Arthur’s complete happily ever after) I’ve been pregnant all of once, so I’m heavily referencing my experience for Monroe’s pregnancy, and every pregnancy differs woman to woman so it’s not like I could be inaccurate (I think).  
> We’re also going to really start seeing the unaddressed mental and emotional trauma left over from Monroe’s past. We’ve already established she’s got problems, but now we’re going to start seeing them and how it affects her combined with the hormonal changes that come from being pregnant.
> 
> Essentially: it’s a ride.

Everyone has a tell, a subtle action or tone of voice that gives them away in a situation.

Arthur’s fingers twitched.

Karen’s nose scrunched.

Monroe told Micah he’s a rat faced bastard.

She learned that Micah’s moustache ticks on the right side.

And that he pulled his punches.

Bastard.

She spat a mouthful of blood onto the pristine floorboards of Lawrence’s cabin, face pulled into a pained grimace as Micah smirked above her. Agitation made her skin prickle, already tight and tacky with varying stages of drying blood, and Micah’s sneering voice felt like pounding drums against her temples.

Looking at the man made Monroe wonder if he was the cause of Dutch’s steady decline, or just the catalyst for a long time coming event. 

Either way, both men were dangerous.

Monroe felt unnervingly vulnerable on the floor, hands tied harshly against her lower back, her dress torn high up her left leg, forcing her to keep her thighs clamped tight to save what little dignity she has left. Her feet and ankles were swollen and bruised, blood and dirt caked thick in the cuts and scrapes, every time she’d try to use them they screamed in heated agony.

“Such a cryin’ shame,” Micah drawled, elbowing the man next time him “Such a pretty lil’ mouth gone to waste on that dickless coward Morgan.”

The man snorted an ugly laugh, Monroe remembered someone calling him Joe, and he looked at her with a gleam in his eyes that made her shudder. He crept too close, reaching out and pressing a grimy thumb harshly against Monroe’s bottom lip in an attempt to pry her mouth open. 

It hurt, the gash on her mouth burning and dripping fresh blood that tastes like copper pieces, she tried to jerk away, but Joe clamped the rest of his hand hard around her chin.

“Should probably show her what she’s missin’, aye Joe?” Micah laughs, cold and raspy “Might be a good way to keep that smart mouth of her’s shut too.”

Joe laughed, nodding eagerly as he crowded Monroe more so, his thumb digging into her mouth, prying it open and exposing the inside of her mouth and throat. 

She closed her eyes tight, trying not to panic, bile building up and gagging her as she’s laughed at from above, she  _ hurt _ and she wasn’t sure what else she could do.

The sound of a belt clinking makes her jerk, teeth snapping shut hard enough a sick wet  _ crack  _ fills the room.

Joe screamed, flailing away, Monroe spitting up blood and something disgustingly solid as the man hollered in pain.

“My  _ thumb _ !” He shouted “She bit off my  _ fucking thumb! _ ”

Monroe recalled an older conversation with Arthur and felt a twinge of regret that she’a going to be remembered as the woman who bit off fingers.

“What in the  _ hell  _ is going on in here?!”

Oh, Dutch came back.

She shouldn’t be so alright with just having bit a man’s finger off to avoid being assaulted, but Monroe couldn’t find it in herself to panic just yet. They’d only just arrived at the cabin a couple hours ago, the ride a blur of aching wounds and fruitless struggling, Dutch dumped Monroe inside with Micah to go do whatever it was he did on jobs.

Probably writing shitty speeches or waxing his moustache.

Monroe must have checked out for a moment, because she was suddenly yanked to her feet by an angry Dutch and hauled across the cabin.

She couldn’t help but cry out, her stumbling feet screaming in pain as she tried to pry her way free from his grasp, but without her hands she could only jerk about and kick weakly.

“Then put her in a room and  _ leave her alone _ !” Dutch shouted, shoving Monroe into a bedroom, not bothering to watch her tumble and fall harshly on her side “We’ve got more important things to worry about than your bruised ego, Micah.”

Oh God, this was going to hurt, but Monroe could not for the life of her keep her mouth shut.

“Like yours?” She croaked, cocking a defiant brow at the seething man above her

Dutch looked down at her with eye so cold they made Monroe shiver, but she refused to flinch back when he approached her, a long and heavy black shadow eclipsing what little light was provided through the doorway.

That’s when she felt it- the tiniest, could be something she ate if she’d eaten recently, flutter beneath her stomach that made her heart skip and breath stutter. 

It caused her to jerk back, panic setting in in almost an animalistic hindbrain fashion that had Monroe scrambling to find a way to defend herself.

What was  _ happening _ ?

“Now, Miss,” Dutch drawled, his voice oil slick could’ve been charming to an unsuspecting individual 

“ _ Mrs. _ ” She couldn’t help but correct, watching the smoldering rage in the man’s eye spark hotly at her words

Arthur was  _ hers _ . Dutch had lost.

A vicious sort of victory thrummed in Monroe’s veins, there wasn’t anything Dutch could do now that would change anything, he could beat her, sell her to Lawrence, but Arthur would still be hers in the end.

Arthur would come for Monroe, not Dutch.

“You seem to be under the impression that you’ve changed my son.” His time was conversational, and Monroe wondered just how delusional Dutch was.

She scooted herself against the chest at the foot of the bed, a memory helpfully reminding her of the sharp brass pieces that she’d hurt herself on more than once in the middle of the night.

She hated this stupid chest, yet it was the only thing she had.

“Arthur didn't change,” Monroe huffed, trying to keep the wiggling of her hands discreet “You did.”

“ _ Me _ ?” Dutch laughed, full bodied and baritone as he took a step forward “Pray tell,  _ Mrs _ , how did  _ I  _ change?”

Monroe swallowed, thinking to all the times Arthur had confided in her, stories from Sadie and John, calm explanations from Charles, and opened her mouth.

“Maybe you didn’t,” She allowed, wincing when she scraped her wrist on the metal “Maybe you’ve been like this all along- a manipulative bastard who uses the love and loyalty of good people to make yourself better than what you are.”

Never mind that he’d murdered Eliza and her driver in cold blood, people who’d had nothing to do with any of this, set a house on fire with Javier still inside, oh, and he  _ shot her dog _ .

“I gave them  _ everything, _ ” He seethed, teeth audibly grinding “Loved them like  _ family _ , and protected them where the rest of society wanted to do away with them!”

“You picked a starving boy up off the streets and turned him into a tool.” Monroe snapped, the whiplash of emotions she felt caused another heavy flutter in her abdomen, cutting her breath off.

“He was my son,” Dutch argued “And you  _ stole him from me _ .”

Monroe swallowed the sudden panic in her chest, unable and unwilling to examine the sudden surge of anxiety that came from the foreign feeling inside her. 

She was  _ scared _ , scared that Dutch would hurt her and hurt her-

No.

_ ‘We’re not going there,’  _ She thought harshly, working her wrists harder against the brass of the chest  _ ‘Now’s not the time to get your hopes up. It’s not possible- what  _ is  _ possible is a madman killing you, focus on what’s important.’ _

Swallowing her irrational fear, Monroe decided she was going to give everyone in this cabin hell before Arthur saved her as she felt the ropes go slack and fall from her wrists.

“He left because he loves his family,” Monroe panted, emotions and pain winding her “He loves them and wanted the best for them. Arthur gave them everything you said you were, and he didn’t have to risk their lives to do it, because, unlike you, he  _ actually  _ cares about them more than himself.”

Dutch snarled, hand rearing back to strike.

Monroe gave him a pink stained sneer, and used their height difference and her newly freed hands to sucker punch Dutch Van der Linde in the balls, not waiting around to watch him hit the floor.

Moving  _ hurt _ , but there wasn’t much of a choice, Micah and Joe weren’t expecting Monroe to burst from the room, their surprise gave her the advantage of a head start as she did her best to run to the door on battered feet. 

She managed to make it out the door, and stumble down the steps when she ran bodily into a limping Javier, both of them thrown to the ground by Monroe’s momentum. 

Trying to scramble to her feet, she groaned in pain, everything feeling like it’d gone six rounds in the ring with a gorilla as she hoisted herself to shaky feet. She looked up to see multiple men standing along the property line, armed to the teeth and watching her.

_ Shit shit shit- _

“Don’t worry now,  _ Miss _ ,” Came Dutch’s somewhat strained voice

Serves him right

“They’re friends of a friend, someone you’re well acquainted with, actually.” He sounded amused, as if Monroe was supposed to keel over in fear.

She wanted to,  _ God, she wanted to _ , but there was no way she was giving that overcompensating bull the satisfaction.

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble for an ex-wife.” She managed to say evenly, helping Javier to his feet despite the little to no strength she had left.

“Not every ex-wife steals a hundred thousand dollars.” Dutch chortled, and Monroe hoped his balls are purple for the next week.

“That’s what this is about?” She looked over at him, trying to keep her composure “So, he hires you to take me, and then what? You honestly think he’s going to pay  _ you _ ?” She laughed, nose scrunching painfully

“He’s going to use you for what you’re worth then dump your corpse in bear country.” 

She felt Javier flinch next to her, and watched Micah’s moustache twitch from his spot behind Dutch.

Dutch, however, seemed to have regained his composure from before, unbothered by Monroe’s words.

“Javier,” He called, and the man straightened to attention, “Take this young lady back inside and keep an eye on her. You seem the least likely she’d try anything with.”

Monroe ignored the jab, but allowed Javier to walk -well, limp- them back inside the cabin. Micah tried to sneer something at Monroe, but jerked back when she snapped her bloodied teeth at him.

Served him right, the sick bastard.

She was escorted back into that bedroom, but this time she was able to sit on the bed, her aching muscle seemed to melt in contentment against the soft mattress.

Javier lingered uncomfortably in the doorway, shifting to ease the pain off his bad leg “Are you hungry?” He blurted, making Monroe furrow her brow at him.

She had a feeling Javier was just trying to stay afloat at the moment, so she nodded carefully making sure to thaw her attitude when looking at the man.

“Sure, but, uh, do you think I’d be able to take a bath at some point?” She asked, gesturing to her everything, blood and dirt and ash caked all across her body and clothes “And wash my mouth out? I taste like rotten hillbilly.”

Javier actually snorted at that, the tension bleeding from his shoulders “I can get you food and water, but a bath will probably be a bucket and some rags if we’re lucky.”

“I’ll take a damp sponge at this point.” Monroe sighed, flopping back onto the pillows, part of her reminded that Lawrence  _ hated  _ anything dirty in his bed.

She felt the urge to grind her dirty heels into the bedding, but it wasn’t worth the pain.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well.” Javier commented, tone curious, making Monroe shrug

“I grew up around similar things, you learn not to let others know what bothers you.”

“ _ Does  _ this bother you?”

Monroe bit her lip, staring at the ceiling as a wave of exhausted emotion rolled through her, her eyes began to sting with salt, and she almost wished for the strange flitting of movement in her body.

“No.”

Javier didn’t say anything else, but he had the decency to shut the door behind him as he walked out, leaving Monroe to cry softly in silence.

  
  


The next couple days were simple enough, Javier was left in charge of watching Monroe, Micah would taunt her from the doorway until Dutch hollered at him, and Monroe would watch out the window as armed men patrolled the woods around them. 

She’d tried to leave the room a few times, but the sight of Joe cradling his thumbless hand and staring her down from across the cabin made her nerves jump.

It felt like he was waiting for her to get close enough to return the favor.

So in the room she stayed.

Javier was kind enough to allow Monroe to bathe with a bucket of lukewarm water and clean rags, he’d even thrown in a bar of expensive soap from Lawrence’s bathroom. Monroe had dug through the chest and wardrobe and found one of her old dresses that she’d left behind years ago.

It was a lot more snug around her bust and hips, given Monroe had been on a strict dietary regime when married to Lawrence, but it was clean and only smelled a little like aged linen so she wasn’t going to complain.

She liked Javier, it turned out, he was a fun conversationalist, and a nice distraction from what was going on. They talked about a lot of things, from fishing (something Monroe wasn’t experienced in, but she enjoyed fishing Javier’s tales immensely) to cooking, and Javier even asked Monroe about the things she’d made in her home. 

“It’s that easy?” He asked when Monroe explained soap making, making her giggle and nod

“Yeah, the hardest part is deciding how you want it to smell- my favorite’s blackberry.” She told him before popping a cracker in her mouth. 

“Could you put tobacco in it?” He pondered “I’ve always liked that smell.”

“Sure.” Monroe shrugged, then winced when she felt her stomach roll with nausea.

That was the other reason she was so fond of Javier, because, when Monroe started getting sick the first morning she was there, he made sure to help her hide it from Dutch and Micah. 

“You okay?” She heard him and nodded, holding up a finger to show she needed a moment until the nausea faded 

Once she wasn’t in danger of losing her dinner, she sighed heavily “Probably just Micah’s rank self,” She commented “Or Joe’s finger. Ugh.”

Javier laughed, and Monroe wondered again how Dutch managed to get such good people on his side. 

Eventually Javier was summoned by Dutch for other work, Monroe huffed at the loss but didn’t let it bother her too much.

She wouldn't let any of this bother her.

Who knew what would happen if she let them know how often she actually cried, or that she slept with her face buried in the pillows so no one could hear her scream.

Vulnerability was a weakness easily exploited, Monroe had learned.

Falling back on the pillows, Monroe let herself drift to sleep with the silent prayer that she’d wake up to Arthur finding her.

Monroe did not awaken to Arthur.

No, because the world hated her for some reason, it was much worse.

It started with a small creaking noise, enough to disturb Monroe’s dreams but not wake her up, and when the bed dipped her subconscious wrote it off as Javier returning to check on her.

The rancid smell of cheap liquor and charred meat made her fingers twitch.

A sudden weight across her thighs made her shift, lashes fluttering.

Hands curling into her throat and  _ squeezing  _ forced Monroe’s eyes wide with a chokes off shout.

“Well, well,” Micah drawled, almost purring at the woman beneath him “Look what I got here, little Miss Morgan all alone.” 

His grin was sharp, glinting in the moonlight as he pressed harder against Monroe, unmoved by her attempts to pull him off her.

“Think you’re somethin’ dontcha?” He chuckled, head cocked to the side “Bein’ Morgan’s bitch must come with some nice perks, too bad he ain’t here.”

“It’s just you and me.”

Monroe thrashed harder, vision distorted from lack of oxygen, the movement in her lower stomach almost frantic as he clawed at the man above her.

Of  _ course _ he’d show up when Javier was gone with Dutch, he was nothing but opportunistic, Monroe wondered if Joe was waiting just beyond Micah.

“Don’t worry,” He cooed, pressure easing just the slightest “I ain’t gonna kill ya.”

Monroe sucked a greedy half breath, but she didn’t feel any better, she already knew she wasn’t going to die, you don’t feed and guard someone unless they’re needed alive.

If she wasn’t being strangled, she’d be highly offended by how dumb they thought she was.

“Oh no, good ol’ Mr. Hayer said he wanted you alive,” He smirked “In one piece wasn’t specified.”

Ice chilled whatever warmth was left in her, clearly imagining Lawrence giving them the okay to do whatever they saw fit to Monroe as long as she was still breathing when he got her. She should’ve known he’d pull something like this, weaken her with men like Micah so he could easily break what little of Monroe was left afterwards.

As if she’d let some coward get away with that.

It wasn’t much, but Monroe was able to use the slack Micah had given her to arch up just enough to reach the lantern on the bedside table. 

The candle inside of it was long cold, but that didn’t make bashing Micah in the head with it any less effective.

He shouted, jerking away and trying to pry the bits of glass from the side of his face and scalp, screaming for Joe who Monroe could then see wasn’t in the room.

She tried to kick Micah off of her completely, but the man retaliated with two strong punches across Monroe’s face, snapping and snarling words she couldn’t understand as her ears rang from the impact.

Scrambling, Monroe did everything she could to either get Micah off of her or get out from underneath the foul man, wincing whenever she’d cut herself on stray glass. Her hand brushed a handle similar to Arthur’s hunting knife along the man’s hip, she didn’t waste any time grabbing it.

Monroe could recall eerily familiar scenarios between her and Lawrence, how scared she’d been and how she’d hesitated when fighting back because she didn’t know any better. Lawrence had everything, and it had kept Monroe caged in their marriage for years, his money and status would’ve reduced anything Monroe said or did to the meaningless antics of an ungrateful housewife. 

Just look at what it was doing now.

She’d always hated that kind of violence, hurting people just because you could, having no remorse for the people lost to it. It was what made the difference between good and bad, it was why Arthur could’ve never stayed in this gang, and what made Micah Dutch’s new right hand. 

It’s what kept Monroe from stabbing Micah over and over again until the man is no more than maggot feed, she got him once, deep in the hip and left him to stumble off of her and barrel into the living area. He howled and screamed over the other voices, bleeding heavily, Monroe managed to scurry off the bed and run into the wardrobe with the knife held in defense. She slammed the doors shut, using the knife to poke through the crack and wiggle down the lock, tears blurring her vision as a commotion started outside the room.

“I’ll kill that bitch!” Micah screamed

“That’s  _ enough _ ! I told you to leave her alone!” Dutch shouted back over the sounds of a struggle

“She ain’t nothing but a trouble making whore, the hell you bein’ so soft on her for!” 

“She’s wanted  _ alive,  _ Micah, what part of that do you not understand?!”

Monroe curled deeper into the wardrobe, sobbing hard as she listened to the men in the next room.

“I thought this was about Arthur!” Came Javier’s voice, desperate and loud “What’s going on, Dutch?!”

“I  _ told you _ not to worry about it, Javier.” Dutch spoke quieter, but it was strained, Monroe could almost imagine the veins bulging across his temple.

“Don’t worry!? Dutch, you burned down an innocent woman’s home and kidnapped her!” Javier argued

“ _ This  _ is what an innocent woman looks like to you!?” Micah hollered, probably gesturing to his wounds “She almost killed me!”

“You attacked her! We don’t do that!”

“ _ Enough! _ ” Dutch boomed, and the room fell silent “I don’t want to hear another word about this until Mr. Hayer has picked that girl up and left, we need  _ money _ , and the twenty five thousand dollars he’s paying us for her and Arthur will finally get us out of here.

“Now,” He cleared his throat, sounding diplomatic “Micah go get yourself cleaned up, you’re obviously just fine if you can run around like this. Javier, make sure our guest is still in one piece, would you?”

The sound of separating footsteps made Monroe relax and quiet her crying, Javier called for her gently when he entered but her throat hurt too much to speak. She reached out and tapped the door with the butt of the knife handle, hands trembling.

When the wardrobe opened, Javier looked devastated, cursing quietly in Spanish as he helped Monroe out of the small compartment and to her feet. He went about stripping the ruined glass filled bedding from the mattress, glass crunching under his feet as he tossed it out of the room.

“You’ll have to move rooms.” He told her

Monroe shrugged, still clutching the knife in numb hands.

He walks her down the hall to a smaller room, there’s only a bed and a chest furnishing the room, and it smells like old cigarette smoke. She’s sat on the bed, Javier gently prying the knife from stiff fingers and checking her over for anything worse than her bruised face. Monroe can feel where her lip is split, and her cheek is swollen and burns but she doesn’t think she’ll have a black eye thankfully. 

Javier pulled a familiar jar from his pocket, and Monroe recognized it as the salve she’d used on him just a few days ago as he began to rub it into her wrists and ankles.

“Lucky for us I grabbed this.” He chuckled with no humor, trying for Monroe’s sake.

She stared blankly back, eyes red rimmed and swollen.

Her head was nothing but static, buzzing painfully loud between her ears as she let Javier tend to her injuries. He finished in silence, offering her one last look of remorse and a promise to be right outside before leaving her alone in the room. 

Monroe didn’t move, spending the rest of the night staring at the wall across from her.

  
  


The next day was uneventful, not that Monroe had anything left in her to react with, she ate on autopilot when a random hired gun brought food, eyes dull and aching from having cried themselves dry. 

Javier was gone, she’d overheard Dutch saying something about it from outside but didn’t pay attention to the details, only hoping that she would be left alone.

So much for promises.

She kept staring at the bloodied hunting knife, flashes of the night before and from years ago flooding her vision in a sea of red, 

Sometime later, a new voice from outside caught her attention 

“I said I was terribly sorry!” A man stammered “I hadn’t any idea this was private property, I was only trying to take pictures!”

Monroe blinked, moving to look out the window.

He was a rather dapper looking man, with an impressive beard and flat hat, clutching a leather case for dear life as he was cornered by a gunman. 

Whatever the gunman said was enough to frighten the man into trying to run, but he was caught by a second man and dragged into the cabin.

Minutes later, the man was being tossed in the room with Monroe by a disgruntled looking Joe.

“We’ll figure out what to do with you when the boss is back.” He grunted before leaving them alone

“Good heavens, what frightful fellows!” The man gasped, wiping invisible dirt from his green vest before noticing Monroe sitting across the room with a startle.

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes flickering across her face, down her ruined dress, and stopping at her feet.

“Miss,” He breathes, going pale as he looked back up at her face “Are you alright?”

Monroe frowned, obviously not alright, but something about this man made her brain itch in thought. She didn’t recognize this man in the slightest, but for some reason he seemed familiar…

_ “I met a feller one time, lost his bag to a coyote while tryna take some pictures,” Arthur chuckled at the memory, voice slurring from the alcohol and good times around the fire _

_ “H’s name was Mason. Albert Mason. Nice enough man, little odd though.” _

_ Monroe smiled, leaning against Arthur as he spoke, she enjoyed when he told stories about his travels “What happened with the coyote?” She asked _

_ “I chased it down for ‘em and got his stuff back, nothin’ fancy, but it was fun.” He took another long swig from his bottle, throat bobbing with the motion “I think you’d like him, if you met him.” _

_ “Sounds nice.” Monroe hummed, closing her eyes in contentment. _

“Are you by any chance Albert Mason?” Monroe asked, voice hoarse, making the man startle a second time

He blinked owlishly at her, and if Monroe had it in her she’d have snorted at the man’s expression.

“I am,” He cautioned “But I don’t have the pleasure of knowing you, Miss..?”

“Monroe- my husband told me about you, Arthur Morgan?” She explained, throat clicking from being dry and abused

“Oh!” Albert lit up at the mention of Arthur, grinning at Monroe “Yes, I’ve met your husband, quite the fellow! Helped me out of a real tiff a time or two.”

Monroe felt a small smile pull at her lips at the man’s enthusiasm, something warm curled in her chest “He tends to do that.” She said softly

Albert nodded along, but he couldn’t keep from looking Monroe over, a worried pinch forming between his brow “I hate to pry, ma’am, but you don’t look well at all. Where is Mr. Morgan?”

She sighed, deflating some as she picked at the bloodied hem of her night gown “He’s on his way.”

The man frowned deeper, taking a couple steps forward “So I take it you and I are both unwilling occupants of this cabin?”

“Something like that.”

“How dreadful.”

Monroe  _ did  _ huff a laugh at that, unable to help herself.

Albert relaxed, tentatively taking a seat next to Monroe “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised,” He shrugged “I’ve always had a habit of finding myself where I shouldn’t be.” 

“You and me both.” She yawned gently “So, got any other fun stories?”

Albert spent the next few hours humoring Monroe with stories of growing up in the city, of the monotony of his previous work he’d finally gotten the courage to abandon in hopes of finding his true calling in the wilderness. 

It was fascinating for Monroe, listening to the man tell her about meeting strange and exotic people and how he’d come to understand he’d never been happy before now.

She loved it.

The day dwindled quickly between them, and soon enough they were finishing dinner while Albert asked Monroe for her own stories. 

She kept it light hearted- not mentioning her mother or Lawrence- and told him about building her own life, the freedom of being her own person after twenty years, she told him about Galahad and King and Bear.

When he asked how she’d met Arthur, Monroe smudged a few certain details, but it was still a good story.

He was rather scandalized about the bar fight, too.

“Hard to believe such a woman like yourself was caught.” He stated, jaw slack in awe Monroe didn’t feel she deserved.

Monroe frowned, feeling something twist at Albert’s words.

“Yeah..” She trailed off, looking outside the window, it wasn’t dark enough for a lantern yet but Monroe couldn’t help but want to light it early.

Albert convinced her to fall asleep, saying he’d stay up and keep watch, Monroe figured she looked pretty bad as she curled up in the thick blanket and fell asleep easier than she thought she would.

She woke up a few hours later to a choked off cry, jolted awake from an already forgotten nightmare as she blearily looked around the room.

The lantern was dim, the candle close to burning out, but it was enough to see what was happening across the room.

It was Dutch and one of the hired guns Monroe didn’t recognize, the former holding Albert by the throat as she hit the man, Albert struggling to free himself.

Monroe jerked from the bed, yelling for them to stop, Dutch only looked at her with a condescending attitude.

“Young lady, we don’t know who this man is or where he came from,” He scolded her like a child “He could be a lawman for all we know! And we can’t have that, now can we?”

The man hit Albert in the stomach, making the poor man heave.

“I told you, I’m nothing of the sort!” Albert coughed, wet and wheezing

Dutch rolled his eyes at the man, turning away from Monroe “Seems awful convenient that right after one of my men turns tail and runs, you show up, don’t you think Mr. Todd?”

The gunman, Todd, nodded silently as he reached behind himself to grab something.

Monroe felt her stomach drop, panic flooding her throat, and she wanted to scream.

_ “Hard to believe such a woman like yourself was caught.” _

It wasn’t, Monroe wanted to argue, because she was weak and  _ scared _ , having done nothing but run from her problems all these years. 

She lost her mother because of it.

She lost her home.

She was going to lose her friends, her family,  _ Arthur  _ because of it.

Albert was going to die.

All of it Monroe’s fault, because she was too scared to do anything but run.

A series of agitated flutters pulled Monroe from her head, reminding Monroe that she didn’t have time for self pity.

She picked up the hunting knife Javier left on the bedside table, hands unsteady.

Was she really going to sit and wait, force Arthur to face off against Dutch, risking his life because she couldn’t do anything? 

Joe, Micah,  _ Dutch _ , she could’ve done more, she could have fought to win instead of just survive.

When did she become so  _ selfish _ ?

“Miss,” Dutch cautioned, pulling him from her thoughts “Put the knife down.”

Monroe stared at the glinting blade, then an awful idea came to mind.

Awful, but effective.

She pressed the teeth of the knife blade against the delicate part of her neck, she could feel her pulse thundering against the serrated edge.

“ _ Miss! _ ” Dutch warned, face darkening 

“Let him go,” Monroe demanded, forcing her voice steady “Let him go or I’ll end your payday right here.” 

It was a truly terrible idea, Monroe could feel when the blade knicked her skin and the small bit of blood that welled up. Arthur would be beyond upset if he ever found out, but she was  _ tired _ \- tired of letting people scare her, tired of not having control of her own life, tired of wondering when everything was going to crash in on her and bury her beneath the weight of everything she’d gone through.

She was reminded of when she still lived in Vermont, how angry she’d been at everyone for giving her over to that monster of a man, and how she’d wondered if dying was better than that living hell.

When the house had burned down, Monroe thought that was it, her way out, but instead it landed her halfway across the country alone with only Lawrence. The Downes had found her at her lowest, and they saved her, Monroe doubted she’d be around to experience anything these last handful of years if it wasn’t for them.

Odd, how the best things come at the worst times.

Todd seemed to understand, slowly releasing Albert until the man thudded to the floor and hurried to Monroe. He put a gentle hand on her wrist, expression pleading, and she allowed him to lower her hand.

Mrs. Downes had looked at her like that once, when Monroe had shattered the bathroom mirror and tried to claw invisible hands from his skin with a piece of glass. There was no pity, no disgust, just  _ worry, _ because for some reason people look at Monroe and see  _ more  _ than the broken girl she feels like she is.

Monroe swallowed hard, and tightened her grip on the handle before deciding the best action was an impulsive one- it hasn’t failed her yet.

She threw the knife, not caring where or who it hit, it was just a distraction for Monroe to drag Albert to and out the window. 

“What  _ are  _ you doing!?” Albert called, running with her, breaking the tree line just as shouting started behind them

That was a good question.

What  _ was  _ she doing? Running away?  _ Again _ ?

_ “No,”  _ She told herself  _ “I’m not running away. Not anymore.” _

If Lawrence wanted her, it was going to be on  _ her  _ terms. 

No more dragging people into her mess, no more waiting for someone else to save her, no more being scared.

Bullets whizzed past them, thankfully not hitting them, and the thunderous clapping of hooves started in the distance. Monroe ached everywhere, and running made her head spin, but Albert was right there to hold her up.

“Im not sure yet!” She panted, cutting across a shallow creek and through a small clearing “But it beats being afraid of a bunch of assholes!”

“So we’re just  _ running _ !?”

“Pretty much!”

The noise behind them was getting louder, Monroe knew that if she looked behind them they’d see men steadily gaining on them, but she couldn’t give up. 

Not when she’d just started to try.

Past the clearing was a small dirt road, and up that dirt road was a small caravan of wagons.

They were lawmen.

Monroe screamed, gaining their attention, at the same time a bullet flew past them and Albert hit the dirt with his own cry. 

When their pursuers got close enough, it became a classic gunfight, bullets soared from both sides, Monroe and Albert staying close to the ground.

Albert hollered something, but Monroe couldn’t hear over the noise, and he yanked on her skirts to point.

A lawman had been shot off his horse.

“You’re the best!” She tried to tell him over the noise as they ran to the spooked animal. 

It only took a moment to calm the mare down, she was older and seasoned to this lifestyle, Monroe thanked God for their luck as they shoved themselves atop the stead and raced off.

A few men noticed, breaking away from the firefight to chase after them, and Monroe cursed not thinking to grab a stray firearm.

A loud crack from behind her and Albert’s startled yelp voided her curse.

“I just shot a man.” Albert sounded confounded from behind her, and Monroe can’t help but laugh

“Well, don’t stop!” She tells him, cutting through the trees 

Monroe’s good at a lot of things, cooking, cleaning, soap making -to name a few- but there’s only a couple things she’s  _ good  _ at.

Horse riding being one.

She’d had Galahad for years, and ridden for longer, it was the only her mother was adamant about that Monroe agreed with. She’d made Elliot teach her past the dainty dressage riding Eliza insisted on, and Rolland always enjoyed a good trail-ride-turned-race when he was home.

So Monroe felt it was only natural that she lost the men after another ten or so minutes of riding, pulling to a sure stop when there wasn’t noise for what seemed like miles around.

“That was…” Monroe trailed, feeling her chest pound and muscles burn 

“ _ Amazing!  _ Albert, did you  _ see  _ what happened!?” She crowed, punching the air 

“Yes, yes, I was there.” Albert said faintly, just before falling off the horse.

“Albert!?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m going to give this a solid 25 chapters and an epilogue.
> 
> That’s all.
> 
> (But, if you wanna see my inconsistent dumpster fire self in other fandoms or even still in Red Dead- lemme know! Once these holidays are over Imma be so bored.)


End file.
